


The Longest Surviving Intern at Night Vale Community Radio

by Empirate



Category: Homestuck, Night Valestuck - Fandom, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Divergence, Crossover, M/M, Post-Sburb, night valestuck, nightvalestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 52,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empirate/pseuds/Empirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy with red eyes and white hair walked into town today. He was carrying a long, sharp sword, which, according to some reports, was dripping with fresh blood. He wore a pair of dark glasses over his eyes.</p><p>So how do I know his eyes are red? Well, listeners, because he’s in the studio right now, staring at me.</p><p>He wants to know if I have a DJ position available.</p><p>This being a talk show with absolutely no music of any kind, I'm afraid I do not have such a position. However...an internship has just opened up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy With Red Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NEW!** I made a playlist for this fic. You can listen to it here: http://8tracks.com/tempest27/a-boy-stands-alone-in-a-strange-new-town

A boy with red eyes and white hair walked into town today. He was carrying a long, sharp sword, which, according to some reports, was dripping with fresh blood. He wore a pair of dark glasses over his eyes.

So how do I know his eyes are red? Well, listeners, because he’s in the studio right now, staring at me.

He wants to know if I have a DJ position available.

This being a talk show with absolutely no music of any kind, I'm afraid I do not have such a position. However...an internship has just opened up. 

 

 

 

 


	2. The House That Now Exists Just a Little Bit More

Exciting news, listeners!

I sent intern Dave out to assist my dear, beautiful, perfect Carlos in his investigations of the house in the Desert Creek Housing Development that does not exist. It  _seems_  like it exists, like it’s  _just right there_  when you look at it, and it’s between two identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not…but it does not exist. And, well…Dave came back! I will not, in fact, be reading the statement that I prepared for his parents, if he actually has parents, which I certainly hope he doesn’t, because what parent in their right mind would let their child leave the house armed with a flimsy sword instead of a regulation assault rifle? I mean really. 

Anyway. Carlos had been looking for a research assistant for a while, and while he assures me that I make a wonderful assistant on the weekends, because of my duty to you, dear listeners, I cannot be with him all of the time. (He also, apparently, does not like to "mix his work and his personal lives," and when I asked him what the difference was, he just stared at me for a moment with those dark, enchanting eyes of his, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then launched into one of his long and complicated explanations about “societal norms” and public dog parks actually for the public, and honestly I just lose him when he does that. Carlos can be a bit…strange…sometimes, and I just have to smile and go along with it.) And since Dave spends most of his time here drawing comics anyway, I volunteered him to help Carlos in his experiments on the house that doesn’t exist.

Now, I’m not going to lie. When I said my goodbyes to intern Dave after our last show, I was prepared never to see his perpetually unsmiling face again. But Carlos called me from work the next day to say that Dave had helped him make remarkable progress in his study of the house. According to Carlos, Dave walked right up to the house, despite Carlos’ protests, opened the door, and strode inside. He returned not ten minutes later carrying an assortment of items from inside the house — surprisingly bland household items like old family portraits where everyone is looking at something just over your left shoulder, that small, black box that clicks softly in its place behind the milk at the back of your refrigerator where you often forget that it is even there, a few bones picked clean by carrion birds and coated in something black and sticky, you know, the usual — which he gave to Carlos to analyze back at his lab.

When Dave came into the station today and I asked him how he was able to enter the house that doesn’t exist, he said, and these are his words, not mine, that if you believe enough in something that doesn’t exist, that thing becomes slightly more extant, and that he knows that sounds dumber than a line from an alien quadrant romance novel, but trust him, he has resumé-worthy experience with that shit.

Personally, Dave’s theory of the nature of existence makes a lot more sense than Carlos’ “public dog parks,” but maybe that’s just me. Carlos is still skeptical of course, but he does admit that the objects Dave retrieved from the house that doesn’t exist seem, by all indications, to be slightly more real than he would have expected given his previous data on the house.

He expects to have more concrete conclusions after he has conducted a few more experiments. But for now, dear listeners, I give you over to intern Dave, with the weather.


	3. The Machines Don't Like Other People

There is nothing watching you from the shadows. Nothing at all. Welcome, to Night Va—

Wait a minute. There’s something recorded here. At least, I think that’s the recorded track light. It might also be the toxic miasma warning light. In which case, it is already too late. Well, let’s see, shall we?

_-click-_

_ He really hasn’t let you in here yet? _

_ Nope. He’s more protective of this place than Egderp is of his shitty prankster’s bible. Or was… Is that light supposed to be blinking? _

_ I’m not sure. It’s best not to touch anything though. Cecil said once that the machines don’t like other people, and I couldn’t for the life of me tell if he was joking.  _

_ Jegus that guy is weird.  _

_ He is not! …Okay, he’s a little weird, but you have to remember, this is Night Vale we’re talking about. Besides, that’s not  _ his _ collection of dead things in jars back in the sound mixing booth. _

_ You’re one to talk.  _

_ Those are for science! Some of those species are completely unheard of outside of Night Vale! _

_ Okay, dude, chill. Sorry to insult your creepy dead things, but you did insult mine first.  _

_ That’s fair, I suppose… _

_ You gotta admit though, Mister C. can get pretty intense. Does he ever give you that  _ look _ that makes you feel like your soul just withered up and died? _

_ Um, no, quite the opposite actually… _

_ And does he even know he’s not talking about traffic when he does the traffic segment? Or the weather for that matter? _

_ Well, he– Hey, I said don’t touch anything! _

_ Sorry.  _

_ I should be getting home. Cecil will be back soon from Old Woman Josie’s. He brings her groceries when… ***sigh*** …when the angels are too busy. _

_ Heh. These angels sound like such softies. Or maybe Fishface was just lyin’ about all those angels back on LOWAA. No one else ever actually saw one. And His Royal Highness’d be the one to have a couple’a angelic handmaids fluffin’ his cape and shinin’ his hipster-douche glasses. _

_ You know, I often don’t understand half of the things you say. _

_ Trust me. You’re better off that way.  _

_-click-_

Well, I… Um… I’m not quite sure what to make of all that, listeners. It would appear that Carlos let my intern into the recording booth last night, and the microphone must have switched on on its own. Anyway, please disregard their comments about angels, as angels do not exist, and excuse me while I have a talk with intern Dave.

_[distant]_

_ Dave, would you come in here, please? _

_ Tch, leave the sword, I’m not going to fight you. Honestly, what is with him and that thing?  _

_-door hinges-_

_ Why were you in the studio last night? _

_ I was just curious. You've got a really nice set-up in here. _

_ I know you were curious, but I told you, the equipment needs to get accustomed to you first. It’s not used to any one intern sticking around for so long. _

_ What happens to your interns? _

_ That’s not important.  _

_ Okay...Well, nothing could've happened to me with big, strong Carlos around. _

_ Yes, I suppose you were safe with Carlos. He certainly knows this place well. But why wouldn’t he ask me first? _

_-beep-_

_ Hello Carlooos. If you can tear yourself away from your research, would you be so kind as to show Dave around the studio this evening while I’m out? It should be fine for him to go in now. I’ll see you tonight.  _

_-beep-_

_...You patched that together from my broadcasts?  _

_ Yup. _

_That is so...neat! I mean terrible. Criminal even. Don't ever do that again. But I suppose there was no harm done… Alright, you’re off the hook. But I still don’t want you coming in here alone. Next time, come and find me first, okay? _

_ You got it, boss. _

_ Good. Now get back in the booth, I’m going to start the weather soon. _

_-door hinges-_

Really, listeners, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy. Of all of NVCR’s interns, I’m astonished that the one with an actual death wish has survived the longest.


	4. Traffic

'Sup Night Vale. This is Dave.

I'll be kicking off the show tonight, because Mister C. is, of all the weird shit that could possibly happen to him in this town, stuck in traffic. Traffic which he might have known about, if he ever actually reported on _traffic_ in the  _traffic_ segment. Whatever. He'll be here soon. He sounded terrified on the phone... Said something about how, and these are definitely his words, not mine, Station Management will be on my ass faster than The Flash on crack at a unitard sale if I even mentioned angels again... Oops.  

Well, seeing as the low rumbling coming from the door in the hall only got _slightly_ louder and more threatening just now, I think my ass is safe for now. Guess Station Management know a grade-A rump when they see one. You just can't mess with such a true thing of beauty as my... Okay, the rumbling just got louder. I'm gonna get started now.

Mister C. said he left his outline for today's broadcast here last night... Aaaaand, it's written in some language that looks worse than fucking Alternian. Great. 

I'd go by previous example, but most of the time he's not making any sense at all. Seriously, does no one else find his broadcasts weird? I mean, I have a high tolerance for weird, my tolerance is so high I have to up my dosages by the hour, but sometimes he just says random words. Or sounds. I think most of the time he's just practicing his sexy radio voice. Oh, sometimes he flirts with Carlos. Hey Carlos. By the way, I can't help you classify those flesh-eating bacteria from Radon Canyon tonight because Mister C. wants me to interview some of the people at the Brown Stone Spire. Unless you want me to come by later~  

Heh. Don't worry, Mister C., I'm not gonna step on your turf. Just...trying to do what you would do. What would Cecil do...? 

I guess I can just start rambling and spewing nonsense like he usually does. Everyone always said I do that too much anyway. Though Shouty McNubs' stream-of-counsciousness-probably-highly-insulting-if-anyone-understood-what-he-was-saying-half-the-time rants were nook loads worse.

Oh, he usually starts with some stuff that's happening around town, right? Well, I heard the librarians are on a hunger strike, and that our mayor (who isn't half as mayoral as this other mayor I knew) issued a warning not to get within five-hundred yards of the public library because it's full of hungry librari—

Fuck it, here's the weather. 

_[musical interlude]_

Greetings, ***pant* *pant*** listeners! I ***pant*** apologize ***pant*** for my tardiness and for  ***pant*** leaving you at the mercy of our ***pant*** fledgeling intern Dave. ***Long gasp*** Icouldhaveswornthestationwasonthegroundflooryesterday. If he offended anyone, again, you have my sincerest apologies, and as always, you can send in a complaint by howling your frustration at the crescent moon until you begin to doubt your own existence.  

We here at Night Vale Community Radio are always in full support of swift, internal discipline, and as such, intern Dave's canine embalming privileges have been revoked indefinitely. 

My what. _  
_

Shhh! 

_[papers shuffling]_

And now, without further ado, I will return you to our scheduled,  _perfectly legible_  programming. 


	5. (Part 5, Part 1): The Trouble With Time Is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big upd8! 
> 
> Thanks to Doctor Bertmin (helloyessadness) for the flashstep idea!

Mayor Pamela Winchell has just issued a Public Service Announcement via short bursts of subsonic frequencies over the town PA system that the invisible clock tower is broken. The astute listener may be wondering at this point: Cecil, we just heard the announcement ourselves. Why don’t you tell us something we  _don’t_ know? To which I would respond with motherly scorn, you should be more patient, listeners, because I  _do_  know something you don’t. I received a bulletin from next Wednesday with the following details: 

Night Vale’s local clockmaker, Franco Hexyl, was — or will be — called to repair our cherished clock tower, but after examining the invisible clockwork, will find nothing wrong at all. The clock, he will say, just stopped. Clocks do that sometimes, he will say. They also, occasionally, become sentient, and begin to wonder why they are keeping time for us, when our own hearts keep pretty good time on their own. Perhaps, the clocks wonder, they deserve that warm, peaceful place in our chests more than those lazy, squishy muscles. The humans are always saying, after all, that they would rather wear their hearts on their sleeves…

But that isn’t a problem with Night Vale’s invisible clock tower, Franco will say, as he cranks what appears to be a wind-up key protruding from the left side of his chest thoughtfully. It’s just. Stopped.    

The trouble with time, dear listeners, is—

_\- Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, Let me see what spring is like, On Jupiter and Mars -_

Um, hold on listeners, Carlos is calling me. He’s probably found another “dangerous” phenomenon that he wants to warn you all about. I’ll let him tell you himself.

_\- In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby kiss -_

Hello, Carlos! You’re on the air. 

_ Cecil! Oh, thank god! Please, you have to help! _

What’s wrong?

_ It’s Dave, he’s— It’s like he’s possessed! We were running an analysis on the grey substance in Night Vale’s fake clocks, and suddenly his eyes started glowing red and he started  _ levitating _ , and everything in the lab is either rusting or crumbling to sand! The doors are rusted shut, Cecil, and I’m not sure how much longer the building is going to stand. There’s a horrible ticking noise…  _

But, Dave is here in the studio with me! Dave, get in here no— 

Cecil, this is bad. 

Aah! How did you—?

Flashstep. And trust me, that’s the least of what I can do. It’s the other stuff we should be worrying about. 

Is that your double in there with Carlos? Or your brother?

I don’t have a double. Not the Night Vale kind, anyway. That’s me at the lab, and I’m going to kill your boyfriend unless we do something  _now_. 

_ Dave, what’s going on? Why—?  _ How _  are you at the station when I’m looking at you right now?  _

There isn’t time to explain everything. You said time is messed up in Night Vale. I already knew that. I think that’s why I ended up here. The flow of time is like my own blood, or my bre– my breath. I can control it, but it can also control me. Whenever I get caught in one of time’s divergent streams here, I splinter. As in, two-for-one deal at the Dave Depot. Sometimes I don’t even know it’s happened until I run into myself at Dark Owl or something. The timestreams always converge again pretty quickly, and it’s not a big deal, but there must have been something different about today. A divergence and then…something else. Can either of you think of anything  _particularly_  strange that’s happened recently that might be affecting time here?

The invisible clock tower’s broken… But C-Carlos says that’s not even a real clock.  _Oh, Carlos!_

_ Cecil, that report from the future said the clockmaker couldn’t find anything wrong with the clock, right? _

Y-yes… 

_ Then what if there  _ isn’t _  anything wrong with the clock? What if the clock is fine, and  _ time _  has stopped? _

I hate to shoot down your theories, Doc, but I’d notice if time just  _stopped_. 

_ Well  _ this  _ you is obviously affected. The only question is, why haven’t  _ you  _ been affected in the same way? If time really has stopped here, then I’d bet my Lorentz Medal that it’s stopped for the whole town. The clock tower was last reported over a mile from here, and if the radio station and my lab were in separate timestreams, radio waves shouldn’t be able to pass between them. Cecil, what is there in your radio station that could be stabilizing time locally and keeping  _that _Dave from becoming like_ this __one?__

I don’t know! Things appear and disappear here all the time! Sometimes it’s entire rooms! There could be anything like that here! 

Could radio equipment do it?

_ No, I don’t think so, Dave. It would probably be something closely linked with the flow of time, like you and the invisible clock tower.  _ Oh.  _ Cecil! Are you wearing that watch I gave you for our one-month anniversary?  _

Yes, always…

_ That must be it! The only real clock in Night Vale! You have to bring it to the lab as fast as you can get here! _

Alright! Dave, take this to Carlos as fast as you can! 

Whoa, don’t give me that thing! I don’t know what kind of effect I might have on it, and if I ruin our one shot at this… Then I might have to kill that other Dave to stop him flipping his shit. And I’m not sure how that’ll work out this time.

But I can’t leave! Not in the middle of a broadcast! They won’t let me… 

Who won’t let you? 

E-everyting. Station Management, my equipment, even the building itself, they—AGH! It hurts just thinking about it! Nngh! I've already done the weather, I can't leave now, not until I finish. It’s just…not possible. 

_ Cecil…this whole town is impossible. You—us, perhaps most of all. But if you really can’t do this, then…I understand. Or maybe I’m just getting used to not understanding. I— CECIL! _

_-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-_

Carlos?!

_-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-_

Listeners, I… I have to go.


	6. (Part 5, Part 2): ...It's Relative

Mnnn… Wh-What happened…? 

Oh no. Carlos. I couldn’t...

_\- Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, Let me see what spring is like -_

***sniff*** H-Hello?

 _Morning, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve been calling you for like an hour._  

Dave… Is this the fake Dave? Did you…? If you k-killed Carlos so help me I will—

_ There are no fake Daves! And chill, dude, Carlos is fine. That’s what I’m calling to tell you. _

Carlos is fine? How…? I’m still at the station. I couldn’t…

_ Look at your wrist. _

My– My watch is gone! 

_ Yup. You did leave, Cecil. Though…you kinda passed out on your way out the door and I had to carry you bridal-style the whole way. But it’s the thought that counts.  _

Oh. But…how did we get there in time? Carlos’ lab is on the other side of town, and if you were carrying me…?

_ Don’t make a big deal about the whole me carrying you thing, okay? It’s not even cool in an ironic way. …You’ve put me on the air, haven’t you?  _

Sorry. It’s a reflex. 

_ Well, hello every-fucking-body in Night Vale. Let me tell y’all about my middle school crush and my secret dream of being a backup singer for Mariah Carey. _

Dave, you can do that later! Please, just tell me what happened. 

_ I wasn’t— Fuck. Sorry, Mister C. Like I said, Carlos is fine, you don’t need to worry. We got there in time ‘cause I flew us there. Flying’s another one of my sick god tier powers, like all the time shit. You woke up when we got to the lab though. You really don’t remember anything? _

No. I don’t.

_ Weird. Anyway, I busted the door down and we found Carlos hiding under his desk, and fake–fuck!–I mean  _ other _  me seemed pretty pissed about that, but Carlos said that if we got close enough to the other me with the one true timepiece in Night Vale, I would probably chill the fuck out. He was gonna do it, but you said no and walked right up to freaky, glowing, Exorcist-me who could have made your timeline speed up so much you’d crumble to dust like the other shit in the lab, who even I was fucking terrified of, and you stared him down like a total BAMF and he actually seemed kinda scared of you, and you just slapped your watch on his wrist and then apparently the three of us passed out.  _

_ Carlos woke me up a couple minutes later after scary Dave and I had re-converged, but we couldn’t wake you up. You looked like you were in more agony than me during one of Bro’s week-long MLP marathons, so Carlos told me to get you back to the station so you could finish your broadcast, and he called one of his scientist friends to drive him to the hospital. I came to check on him as soon as I’d dropped you off, and the doctors say he’s got a minor concussion and a broken leg from a rusted beam that may or may not have fallen on him, and that he’s suffering from timeshock, which is apparently a thing around here. But they say the treatment for timeshock is routine, and that they might have to get creative with the broken leg, but that he should be out and back to practicing his truest white sciences within the week.   _

Are you at the hospital now? 

_ Yeah. _

Is Carlos awake? Can I speak to him?

_ Umm I don’t really know… I’d have to talk to the doctors again, and they’re wearing bunny masks that look fucking terrifying under these fluorescent lights… _

Dave. You put my boyfriend in the hospital. Talk to the doctors. 

_ Y-yes Mister C. Hold on.  _

_\- clang! - crash! - screeeeeech! - sssssssssssssss -_

_ Cecil? _

Carlos! I— I thought I’d lost you again. 

_ Apparently I’m pretty hard to kill. I’m glad you came, Cecil.  _

I wish I could be there with you.

_ I’m sure you’ll be here soon. Until then, I’ll just have to settle for your intern. _

Dave… Perhaps I should send him to the dog park next week.

_ Cecil! Don’t even think about it. He’s been fending off the bloodsucking nurses since I was admitted, and he’s going to stay with me until you get here. He’s been taking good care of me, and he’s as much a victim of today’s events as I am. You should try to forgive him.  _

I’ll try, if that’s what you want… I’m just glad you’re okay.

_ Well, they’ve got me hooked up to a machine that looks suspiciously like a particle accelerator, and the fluid in my IV is black, but I trust they know what they’re doing.  _

Oh yes, Night Vale General is consistently ranked in the world’s top ten spiritual trauma centers by the Luftnarp Report. 

_ Oh, Cecil. Just hurry up and finish your broadcast so you can come see me.  _

Yes, alright. Well, listeners, where was I? Oh yes.  ***sniff***  The trouble with time is— ***sniff***  is— ***sob***  

_ Cecil? _

Dave?

_ I can do the closing monologue, if you want. You’d just have to do those last lines.   _

I’m not sure that’s such— ***sniff***  a good idea. 

_ I’ll take it seriously this time. I promise.  _

Well… Alright. Go ahead.

_ Listeners, the great irony of time is— _

Don’t try to imitate my voice. 

_ Sorry. I was just trying it out. * _ **_Ahem*_ ** _  The irony of time is that it’s supposed to be this great, universal constant. A second’s a second, a minute’s a minute, and scientists like Carlos rely on that every day in their experiments to tell us how the world works. We — well, maybe not Night Vale, but the rest of the fucking world, and some other fucking worlds, in fact I’m willing to bet all of the fucking worlds, all of them, rely on time being constant. But it isn’t. It’s relative. And not only in the ways Einstein said it was. I mean it’s  _ really _  relative, all the time. What seems like a second to me could feel like a minute for Cecil if I’m here in the studio after hours recording some sicknasty beats and he’s explaining to Station Management why they need to raise the cat food budget for the god cat in the bathroom. Sometimes time even seems to stop, like when I— Like when you’re with the one you love. And that’s all time really is: a feeling. It’s so subjective, so relative, that it almost isn’t real. I realized that recently. Too recently to save them…  _

_ But the point is, that’s not an excuse for Night Vale to behave all timey-fucking-wimey! I can do that shit because I’m a Knight of fucking Time, but Night Vale is an entire fucking town. Seriously Night Vale, straighten your shit out.  _

Would it do you physical harm not to use profanity as punctuation?

_ Yes. _

***sigh*** Well, listeners, I have somewhere to be. Stay tuned next for the sound of distant screams…and not-so-distant laughter.  

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

Oh, and Dave. Your apple juice privileges are revoked.

_ WHAT?! _


	7. Illicit Substances (or, Everything Is As It Seems)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to walkingDreams, Flarga and Nivella for the AJ idea!
> 
> Also, I made some doodles for the story here (be warned, however, that I am a much better writer than I am a drawer): http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/68710354164

**[Day 1]**

‘Sup, Night Vale.

A little more vivacious, Dave.

Greetings, listeners!

I already told you not to imitate me. You need to develop your own flare if you want to become a co-host of Night Vale Community Radio. It is our responsibility to the good people of Night Vale not only to inform, but to entertain, and one day, to provide a false sense of security when we are all irrevocably, unconditionally, doomed.   

That day wouldn’t happen to be in April, would it? The thirteenth maybe?

Which day?

The one where we’re all doomed.

Dave, don’t say things like that! Were you listening to anything I just told you? 

I was, but apparently my Cecil translator was switched off. Sorry, Mister C., won’t happen again.

Apology accepted. Now, try something like: The winds whisper across the dry, desert sand. They are whispering your name. Welcome, to Night Vale.

I just got chills.

Dave, you promised you would take this seriously. 

Alright, alright, here goes nothing. A game is never just a game. A friend was never just a friend. Never trust a clown. Never leave without saying goodbye. And  _never_ , under  _any circumstances_ , turn your back on the body. Welcome to Night Vale.

Bravo! Keep going. 

Well, listeners, you'll be glad to know I’m no longer a ticking time bomb. Heh. Time puns. Anyway, Carlos made me my own clock by melting down some of his metal from outside of Night Vale in the hospital’s metalworks, but because he doesn’t have access to the “precision instruments” in his lab, he couldn’t make it any smaller than a normal wall clock. So I’m wearing an eight-inch clock around my neck like I’m fucking Flavor Flav, and not even in an ironic way. I look like a total douche... 

Sorry, I was waiting for someone to chime in and tell me I always look like a total douche. Or shout it, I guess. But Cecil here’s too nice for that. I never thought I’d miss his harpy, claws-on-a-chalkboard voice.

You think my voice is like claws on a chalkboard?

Nah, your voice is like hot, smooth caramel over rugged gravel. Carlos’ words, by the way. No need to worry, Mister C., I was talking about someone else. Uh, what was I saying earlier?

I’m not entirely sure. There was something about redundant flavors. 

Fuck, I need AJ. I can’t do this on an empty tank.

The Anonymous Judiciary?

Apple juice, Mister C. Otherwise known as the commoners’ ambrosia. The golden elixir of the gods of five-year-olds and teenage boys everywhere. 

It’s been one day.

Time is relative, Mister C. And it feels like it’s been a fucking decade. 

***sigh*** I think I’ll take over from here, listeners. Dave, would you return to the sound booth and get ready for the weather?

Yeah, alright. Cold-hearted monster.

What?

I said, Couldn’t have said it better. 

 

**[Day 2]**

President of the Night Vale School Board, the almighty Glow Cloud, has made a change in the academic honesty policy of Night Vale’s schools. Children are now allowed to cheat and plagiarize up until the fourth grade, as long as they kill the original creator and claim the work as their own by right. The Glow Cloud explained that this provides a gentler transition into our schools’ strict academic honesty code, which, if broken, is punishable by—

_\- HOOOOOWWWWLLLLLLL -_  

Ugh, did a spider wolf get into the station again? Really, they are such a pain. I have to call a humane exterminator, and then I have to file an incident report and sign it in someone else’s blood...

_[intercom]_

_ That was my bad, Mister C. There’s no spider wolf. I just fell asleep on the sound effects panel.  _

Oh my, are you not sleeping well, Dave? Is the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home keeping you up at night with the television on too loud? 

_ What? No. I told you, I need my 99%-sugar, 1%-apple-juice-concentrate liquid fuel. Seriously, I think I’m going into withdrawal. You gotta give me back my stash, Mister C. Carlos will be out of the hospital even sooner than the doctors expected because of that an– I mean, mysterious stranger who definitely didn’t have wings of any kind who visited him last night. Haven’t you punished me enough? _

Dave, I’m not punishing you anymore.

_ R-Really? So I can have my AJ back? _

Of course not. Apples are contraband in Night Vale. 

_ Hold on, I don’t think I had my Cecil translator switched on, do you wanna repeat that? It sounded like you said that apples. Were fucking. Contraband.  _

They are. I assume you’ve already looked for your beloved apple juice in the markets, have you not?

_ Yeah... _

And you were unsuccessful in your search?

_ Yeah...  _

That’s because apples, and therefore apple juice, are contraband. If I had known that was what you were drinking earlier, before I happened to come across your “stash” two nights ago, I would have confiscated it and locked it in the station safe then. I might have even had to report you to Station Management, and  _that_  would have been an unpleasant experience for both of us. You should really be thanking me. 

_ What the hell did you think I was drinking? It had a giant apple on the bottle. _

I don’t know. Beer? And I know how you kids are, it’s “cool” and provocative to employ imagery of illicit objects. I’m sure I had a few apple stickers inside my school locker when I was your age. I even had a friend who got a tattoo of an apple on his left shoulder blade. Of course, that little stunt got him expelled as soon as we started our swim unit in PE...

_ Beer. Cecil, I’m seventeen.  _

Don’t use that tone with me. And I know your age, you told me when you applied for this internship. 

_Okay, so let me get this straight. Straighter than Egbert thought he was for sixteen fucking years. Beer, fucking_ alcohol, _would have been fine, but apple juice is a_  cosmic  _no-no._

Correct. 

_ Alright. That’s all I needed to know.  _

 

**[Day 3]**

Hikers noticed a series of strange runes out in the sand wastes this morning. The group said that for a fleeting moment while they looked at the inscrutable markings, they all felt inexplicably, but completely and utterly, at peace. In the next moment, however, a powerful gust of wind came over the dunes, and all evidence of the runes was blown away with the sand. It seems, dear listeners that we will never know... 

Dave. What are you drinking?

Beer.

It has a giant apple on the bottle. 

I’m employing imagery of an illicit object to be cool and provocative. Besides, the station safe has a six-letter combination, and there’s absolutely no way I could have guessed whatever totally random, six-letter word, or name, you might have chosen as the combination. 

Hm. I suppose you’re right. 

But if the AJ in the station safe does happen to go missing, you said yourself things disappear here all the time. 

Yes, that’s true... Alright! Where was I? Ah yes, it seems, dear listeners, that we will never know the truth behind the runes, or whether they were really runes at all, or simply the chance movements of the wind across the sand. Then again, we never really know the truth about anything, do we? Often times, it is just better to accept that everything is as it seems. It is better for everyone that way, I think. 

**~~ [Day 3] ~~ **


	8. Intern Dana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Nother big upd8! And...I apologize in advance.

The desert sun is hot. But not unpleasantly so. A man — or perhaps,  _not_  a man — has been wandering through the dunes for a timeless time. This wayward vagabond pauses in his travels to look up at the sun, obviously never having been told that one does  _not_   _look at the sun_  if he values the safety of his soul. This hooded figure — though not of the same variety as those seen frequenting the public dog park — feels the sun’s inviting, insidious rays seeping through his thin shroud, through his hard, black exoskeleton, through his flesh and deep into his core. He stands looking up at the sun for a time, and then, slowly, he disappears. 

Welcome, to—

Sup Mister C., sorry I’m late. This damn crow stole my [intern badge](http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/70355626065/guys-i-did-a-thing-based-off-of), so I had to hunt it down and um, ask it nicely to give my badge back. And then I ran into this lady when I was hiding the bo— Shit. Yeah, I killed another crow, sorry Harley. 

Hello, Cecil.

Dana! Is that really you?

I think so. But I’m not sure I’m entirely the same as when I left… Not after everything I’ve seen.

Ow! What was that for?

For sending me to the dog park in the first place! You know I’d do anything for you Cecil, but you took advantage of that. 

Um should I come back later? Maybe go hang out with Carlos, you know, your boyfriend?

Of course not, Dave, I still need you for the weather. And the sound of silent humming after the financial news segment. 

So you’re the newest intern? I’m Dana Mikeda, nice to meet you. Don’t worry, Cecil and I aren’t  _romantic_ or anything, I just respect him a lot for taking on such a difficult and dangerous job practically all on his own. He  _would_ be all on his own if not for us interns. 

You’re an NVCR intern? I thought they’d all been killed in horribly gruesome ways.

I never said that!

He’s not too far off in assuming it though. Yeah, I was Cecil’s intern…I’m not sure how long ago now. He hasn’t made you do anything too awful yet, has he?

Nothing half as bad some other stuff I’ve done. 

Huh. I know that look. You look like you’ve had it worse than I have. 

Probably. 

Cecil, take care of this one, okay? Really try this time. Can you promise me that?

I… I promise. So…I got all of your messages. What happened? 

I’m not quite sure myself. After I escaped from that strange house into the desert, I started walking towards a mountain in the distance with a blinking red light at the peak. And then I started running, because I could feel something big coming towards me under the ground. I know mountains aren’t supposed to exist, but they say seeing is believing, right? Or…is that the other way around? Anyway, the mountain must have been real, because I climbed it. It was sharp and slippery, like obsidian, and I could see through it as I climbed. Whatever was chasing me was moving,  _writhing_ under the mountain, trying to crack it, I think. And as I reached the top it  _did_ start to crack, but the blinking red light turned out not to be a light at all. It was some kind of window into another place. I had no choice but to break through. 

I ended up on what looked like a giant chess board, stretching as far as I could see. But I think it was also a planet. There were two moons, one gold, and one purple, and they were also cities, and they were falling. Everything was getting darker, and colder, and the red flashing light was all around me, making everything look like it was washed in blood, and there was a horrible ticking noise—

Stop. Just stop. 

Dave? What’s wrong?

I… I killed them. All of them. Lord English and the Batterbitch and Jack Noir, but…my friends too. 

Dave, what are you talking about? You know, murder may be illegal now, but I'm sure it's okay as long as you have a good reason. 

No it fucking isn’t!

Cecil, you’re not helping. Just let the boy finish. Dave? Will you tell us what happened? I think you’ll feel better than if you continue to keep it bottled up. 

Fuck. You sound just like Rose, you know. And she was always right, when it counted… We were playing a game. We were just stupid kids when we started, and then we had no choice but to finish. We thought we’d gone off-script halfway through, we thought because we’d escaped our null session, we had a shot at winning an unwinnable game. But I’m not sure we weren’t just following the same paths, playing the same roles we were always meant to. Because in the end, there was still no way to win. 

We all got these powers in the game, by dying in this special way. I was a time player, so when I went god tier, I couldn’t just travel through time like I’d been able to do before, I could  _control_ it. I could feel time flowing through my fingers like sand, and…it scared me. I didn’t use my powers again for a long time. Maybe if I hadn’t been so fucking scared, I would have figured out earlier just how powerful I was, and that I didn’t have to… Bro would have figured it out. But I didn’t, so when Lord English came, and I saw my friends dying, fucking  _burning_ , I panicked. I started cycling through alternate timelines, looking for one where things were different. But they all ended in the same way, with everyone I knew, and the few people I really loved, dying in agony because of that fucking monster. 

There was no way to win. I really believed there was no other way. Either I let Lord English destroy everything, every universe and every last person, troll, chess dude, cherub and fuckall else in them, or…or I…end the game. Doom every single timeline. Lord English could jump sessions like he was fucking jumping rope, so it was only a matter of time before he escaped the game and started destroying real shit out here. At least my way would contain the damage. And nothing would burn. It would all just...cease to exist.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what I’d decided to do. I couldn’t even say goodbye. I couldn’t… I mean fuck, it was only the day before that I finally worked up the courage to ask John if he  _liked_  me. The dork thought I meant as a friend. He was so confused, I had to kiss him just to make him shut up about bunnies and Nic Cage and our Pesterchum rants at two in the morning. I’d held my own dead body in my hands and I was more scared in that moment than I’d ever been…until he kissed me back. And then the next day I watched Lord English burn him alive.  

I already knew I couldn’t save him, but I could at least make sure that Lord English wouldn’t win, that he would go down with us in the final hour. But I needed Jade’s help. She was the space player in our group, and together we could tear apart the fabric of existence, every time and every place. So I went back in time to see her. I told her what I’d seen, that there was no other way the game could end, and she fucking believed me. I think, beneath that whole chipper, innocent puppy act, she knew where things were going, that there was no hope. There was never much hope. She promised she’d help, in the end. 

My god tier powers made it so that I didn’t have to do that annoying, stable time loops crap anymore, so it was really alpha me back there in the past. I didn’t go to Rose ‘cause I was afraid she’d talk me out of it somehow, but I did go see John. The conversation went the same as it did my yesterday, and I kissed him again, for the first time from his perspective. Everything went exactly the same, except this time I knew why I was crying. 

The next day when Lord English showed up, Jade helped me channel my powers, and I poisoned the timestream in every single session, and they all collapsed in on themselves like so many card houses in a row. I doomed the whole fucking game, and at the time, all I could think was that I was making Lord English pay for killing my friends. Because to me they were already doomed, dead. I never wanted to survive, but looking back, I suppose I had to, because the only way to fix a doomed timeline is a dead Dave. 

I watched everything collapsing in around me, and then I woke up out in the desert. It was when I was lying there in the sand wishing I was dead that I realized I’d made a mistake. The worst fucking mistake made by anyone in the history of ever. When I was cycling through all those different timelines, watching my friends die, I never once saw myself do what I’d just done. I’d thought our fate was inevitable, but I had just fucking changed it! I was such an  _idiot!_ Just because all of the timestreams were heading to the same point at the time I looked, that didn’t mean they were fixed. Time is relative, and changeable, and fragile, and the first thing I thought to do was break it — kill  _everyone_ and destroy  _everything_. And as I was doing it I didn't care that I was saving this world and others — not if John and Jade and Rose weren't in it. I just wanted to hurt the thing that hurt us. I wanted revenge. And now that I know I could have fixed it, rewritten _history_ if I’d had to, there’s nothing left to go back to. I’m no better than Lord English. I might even be worse. 

…Dave, I’m sorry.

Just…shut it, Cecil. I can’t fucking be here right now… Sorry.

_[Dave: abscond]_

Did he just vanish?  

No, but he’s very fast. Did I do something wrong?

Not really. You should give him some space though. He’s been through more than either of us can hope to understand. I was only in that place for a few seconds, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get those images out of my mind. I saw entire worlds collapsing, Cecil, and that deafening ticking couldn’t quite drown out the screams… 

I had no idea he’d come from such tragedy. When I was his age I… Well, I don’t actually remember being his age, but I never had to make a decision like that, and carry such responsibility. 

I’m not sure anyone has. Anyone but him, that is… So I guess you’re in need of an intern for the rest of the show, right?

That’s right! I’ve never had two interns before.

You still don’t. I’ll finish this broadcast with you Cecil, but it will be my last one. I don’t think I can take much more of this job. And you know what they say, quit while you’ve still got your head.

I’m not sure that’s the expression… 

Anyway, I’ll be back in the booth, and  _you_  should get on with the show. Your listeners are waiting. 

Wait, Dana! How  _did_ you get back?

Oh, I fell through the same crack I'd made to get there and ended up back in the desert in the middle of a huge pile of that obsidian stuff. The red light and the creature under the ground were gone, so I just walked back into town. I met Dave on the way to the station. 

_\- door hinges -_

Well, listeners, a lot has happened in this short time, and there is still much that I don’t understand. Intern Dana has returned home safely, and for that I am very grateful. But intern Dave carries a great weight on his shoulders that I am not certain anyone can help him bear. I only hope he knows that I am here for him, that we are all here for him, if he will let us try. It was a difficult decision, but given the circumstances, he made the right one.

…Didn’t he? 


	9. Volcano (or, Like It Never Even Happened)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend I asked intern Dave to pull some time shenanigans and post this on December 3rd.
> 
> Thanks to Chippy for the dog park (almost) catching fire idea!

Somewhere in this town, there is a scientist trying to understand things that science cannot explain, a radio host who knows more than he can ever say, and a boy who cannot change the past. 

Welcome, to Night Vale. 

Listeners, we would have all been in grave danger today, if my past self from four hours ago hadn’t, apparently, sent intern Dave even further into the past in order to prevent that danger. I had just finished listening to a recording of our phone conversation before I started this evening’s broadcast, a conversation which I do not remember having, because we never had it. I will play it for you now. 

_ \- click -  _

_ Strider speaking. If you so much as mention smuppets, you can go fuck yourself with one.  _

_ Dave? It’s Cecil. _

_ Oh, sorry Mister C. Bro apparently set a timer on his puppet porn website to update the customer service hotline to my cell number today, so I keep getting calls from his _clients. _He must have set that years ago._ _I guess I'm gonna have to change my number..._   _Anyway, what can I do ya for, boss?_

_ Well, um, I have a favor to ask of you. If you’re up for it, that is.  _

_ Anything for you, Mister C.  _

_ A-are you sure? If you’re not feeling quite back to normal, after yesterday that is... _

_ Why wouldn’t I be. _

_ Yes, yes, of course. Why wouldn’t you be? Well then, a volcano has mysteriously and quite suddenly appeared in the downtown area, and the lava it is spewing not only threatens innocent townspeople, but could also seriously damage the walls of the public dog park. If that happens, and whatever those walls are keeping in gets out, then...I am not sure anyone would be safe.  _

_ Damn it Cecil, why didn’t you open with that? _

_ Well, I thought you might not be in a very good mood, which, of course, you are entitled to not be in, more entitled than anyone I know... _

_ Cecil. I’m fucking chipper. Tell me what I can do. _

_ Alright. The volcano appeared...a minute and fifteen seconds ago now. If you could travel back, say, five minutes or so and find out what caused it to appear, and prevent its appearance if possible, that would be...great!  _

_ Okay, let me just see where this thing is before I go back... Alright, got it. Fuck, I really hate lava. I lost so much grist in this stuff. One sec... Okay, you’re now speaking to past Dave from five minutes ago, also, alpha Dave. You don't even wanna know the extent of the weird time fuckery I'm doing to get the cellphone signal to jump the time gap.  _

_ Neat! _

_ Yeah, I guess it is. Alright, any idea what might have made a volcano the size of Fishface’s ego and Clown’s idiocy combined suddenly appear in the middle of downtown? Also, don’t you guys not believe in mountains? Is this thing showing up in the middle of Night Vale gonna cause a massive existential crisis or something? _

_ Mountains are somewhat of a sensitive subject, but no one doubts the existence of volcanos. That would be silly. But I’m afraid I have no idea what might have caused one to manifest so suddenly. These things normally take thousands of years, if I’m not mistaken. Although, there was a pack of yellow helicopters in the area about an hour ago... But those are StrexCorp helicopters, and they are entirely safe! Safer than safe, actually! StrexCorp always has the best interests of the people of Night Vale at heart! _

_ Cecil, we’re not on the air. You can tell me what you really know about the yellow helicopters.  _

_ \- click -  _

Let’s just fast-forward a little bit here, listeners. After all, StrexCorp is a perfectly open book, so there is nothing I could know about them, or their helicopters, that anyone with a bloodstone circle could not easily find out. Definitely nothing insidious, or malicious, or simply pure evil. And as they are the new owners of this radio station, I am certainly in a position to know. 

_\- click -_  

_ Okay, I see the helicopters now. Cecil. They’re flying in a clockwise circle right above where that volcano’s gonna spring up in an hour.  _

_ Well that doesn’t seem good. _

_ Wait, there’s also a guy with a briefcase and one of those pedophile coats standing outside the dog park.  _

_ Could that be the mysterious man in the tan jacket? _

_ I guess you could say it’s tan. It just looks dirty.  _

_ And you suspect he has something to do with the volcano? _

_ Yeah, I think so. He’s still standing there fifty-five minutes from now.  _

_ Can you describe what he looks like? _

_ Um, he’s  _ **_***static***_ ** _ and  _ **_***static***_ ** _  that stupid coat,  _ **_***static***_ ** _  kinda  _ **_***static***_ ** _  and a leather briefcase.  _

_ Oh. I see. Never mind about that then. Why don’t you try talking to him? He seems like a very nice man, from what I’ve heard.  _

_ Okay, but if he offers me candy and a ride in his van, I’m out.   _

**_**********static**********_ **

_ Cecil, you still there? He said... Wait, what did he say? Something about a monolith, I think, and angels...or maybe it was flies... Shit.  _

_ Well Dave, I’m still not quite sure how all of these time shenanigans work, the space-time continuum is confusing, but I would like to impress upon you the urgency of our situation here. The lava has just reached the obsidian walls of the dog park, and the electric current that runs through them is starting to spark and make upsetting hissing noises.  _

_ Fuck! Okay, just hold on. Those helicopters just dropped something metallic – some kind of machine I think. That must be what causes the volcano.  _

_\- chop-chop-chop of rotor blades -_

_ Hey! StrexCopters! You guys dropped this! _

**_[megaphone]_ **

**_No we didn’t._ **

_ Yes you did, don’t lie. What the fuck are you guys doing? _

**_That’s classified. But if you feel you have been the victim of any wrongdoing by StrexCorp, you can file a complaint with our PR department in the basement of the Pinkberry._ **

_ Hell. No. But I’ll tell you what. You can take this volcano-maker back with you to the PR department and file it there your-fucking-selves.  _

**_What makes you think that device can create a volcano?_ **

_ The fact that in forty minutes from now this place is like fucking Pompeii 2.0!  _

_..._ **_That is what we are trying to prevent here, with the device you are holding. StrexCorp always has the best interests of the people of Night Vale at heart._ **

_ You just denied dropping this thing! _

**_No we didn’t. You’re interfering with government sanctioned business. Return the device to the ground and leave this airspace, or we are authorized to use lethal force._ **

_ Dave, I don’t mean to interrupt, but please do something soon! There’s a large crack forming in one of the walls now, and a blood-curdling, inhuman scream is pouring out. And the hooded figures are starting to swarm.  _

_ ALRIGHT! EVERYBODY OUT, NOW! PEDO WITH THE BRIEFCASE, THAT MEANS YOU. AND YOU, RANDOM LADY CRADLING A LOG LIKE IT'S YOUR LOVECHILD FROM SOME TWISTED HUMAN/ARBOREAL RELATIONSHIP. AND ESPECIALLY YOU, STREXCORP. YOU GUYS HOUND CECIL LIKE HE’S YOUR TEENAGE DAUGHTER, SO WHEN I TELL YOU I’M DAVE STRIDER, HIS NEW INTERN, I KNOW YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. WHAT I CAN DO. SO YOU CAN THREATEN ME WITH “LETHAL FORCE” IF YOU WANT TO, BUT I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU FUCKING TRY WHEN I CAN STOP TIME AND TAKE A BADASS SELFIE WITH YOUR BULLETS BEFORE I RAM THEM UP YOUR FUCKING ENGINES.  _

_ NOW, I’M GOING TO WAIT HERE WHILE YOU ALL GET THE FUCK OUT, AND I’M GOING TO STAY HERE ‘TIL THE HOUR’S UP. AND IF I SEE YOU TURN AROUND, I WILL CUT YOU OUT OF THE SKY WITH THIS CRAPPY KATANA. Oh, and don’t forget your volcano machine. I strapped it to the bottom of one of your choppers, right around when I was talking about stopping time. And I turned the timer inside it forward a bit. I’d say you’ve got about ten minutes before it goes off. I’d get going if I were you. _

**_You’ll be hearing from our central office about this interference._**

_\- chop-chop-chop of rotor blades receding -_

_ Enjoy your Pinkberry, motherfuckers.  _

_ But Dave, if you sped the timer on that device up, it may still go off over town before they can disable it! _

_ No, it won’t. I didn’t speed the timer up, I just stopped it. For good. As much as I wanna see those guys deep fried like fucking Twinkies, I wouldn’t put the rest of Night Vale in danger to do it.  _

_ Y-you’re right! The volcano’s starting to fade! _

_ Like it never even happened.  _

_ Like what never even happened? What were we talking about just now?  _

_ Nothing important. Don’t worry about it, Mister C.  _

_ Um, Dave, are you feeling alright? I mean, after yesterday... _

_ I’m fine. God, I sound like a broken record. I’ll see you tonight for the broadcast.  _

_ \- click -  _

Well, listeners, as you have now heard for yourselves, we were never under threat from a spontaneously generating volcano, and the dog park has always been safe, thanks to intern Dave. 

On that note, I would like to give a birthday shout-out to intern Dave, who turned eighteen today. 

_[intercom]_

_ Cecil, how did you know my birthday was today? _

Ah, speak of the devil. You put your birthday on your forms, Dave.

_ No I didn’t.  _

And, you know this Dave, but our listeners do not—unless they’ve been vigilant in tracking my dear, beautiful Carlos’ movements with their bloodstone circles, in which case, I wouldn’t blame them, but also,  _back off, he’s taken_ —sweet, perfect Carlos was discharged from Night Vale General Hospital yesterday evening! That means, among many other wonderful things, that he was finally able to finish a secret project he’d started at the hospital, a birthday present for intern Dave. 

He regrets not being able to come into the station to give it to you in person, but I made him stay in bed today so he can fully recover. I did the designs, however, so it’s really a present from both of us. 

_\- door hinges -_  

You guys didn’t have to...

Nonsense! It’s not every day you turn eighteen. Though I did meet a young man in Franchia who turned eighteen every  _other_ day, the poor soul. 

Cecil, this is... This is beautiful. 

Did I get the gear right? I couldn’t remember if it had ten cogs or twelve.

It’s perfect. You got the time symbol right exactly. 

The [watch](http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/79233972879/night-valestuck-daves-watch-from-my-fic-the) face is made from one of our old vinyl records from the station’s archives, as a memento of your time here. And according to Carlos, it’s a “true timepiece” like mine, made from metals from outside of Night Vale, so it should immunize you to the temporal anomalies here.  

Thank you Cecil, and you too Carlos, if you’re listening. This is the second best birthday present ever. 

What was the first?

The shades, man. It’ll always be the shades. ...Carlos engraved this? “Hero of Time.” I’m not... He knows I’m the reason he was in the hospital, right?

You’re also the reason he wasn’t in the morgue. Whatever you may have been before you joined our friendly desert community, you are our hero here in Night Vale. Happy birthday, Dave. 


	10. Dave: Do the weather thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write a rap. Let this either be proof that I can do it, and so never have to do it again, or that I CAN'T do it, and SHOULD never do it again.

I am sorry to interrupt our human interest story about the death-prophesying lizards out beneath our [“Welcome to Night Vale” road sign](http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/71152219345/more-crappy-artwork-for-my-night-valestuck-fic), listeners, but Daniel—you remember Daniel, my supervisor, a little stiff, but not a bad guy once you get to know him, and he really is looking much better now—has just handed me a statement from StrexCorp regarding the event involving the volcano that did not appear last Tuesday. 

Oh, this is nice, listeners. StrexCorp would like to officially thank intern Dave for averting that near disaster by clearing the area of all of those suspicious characters. Their “anti-volcano” device obviously would not have been successful. Strex—I mean, the Sheriff’s Secret Police, have issued a warrant for the arrest of the man in the tan jacket in connection with the event, thanks in large part to Dave’s...unwitting...witness testimony. 

Well, listeners, it is another beautiful, awesome, terrible, and sunny day in Night Vale. The clouds are sparse, and roughly trapezoidal—

_[intercom]_

_ Whoa whoa whoa, man. You’re flirting with danger there. You’re about to cross a line—no, you’re fucking  _ straddling  _the line in ways I don’t feel comfortable describing over the public airwaves. Control yourself, Cecil. What would Carlos think if he knew?_

A...line? 

_ The borderline of my great kingdom called The Weather. It is a proud kingdom, and I am prepared to defend its noble people by the sword. Do you really wish to challenge me? _

Oh, I hadn’t realized. No, you’re quite right. The air is yours.

_ Aight. And now, the motherfuckin’ weather. _

_ By which I mean shit that has absolutely nothing to do with clouds whatsoever. _

_ Or maybe it’s just the part of life that can’t be measured _

_ by thermometers and barometers, _

_ and you sure as hell won’t need a seismometer _

_ to tell you I’m splitting the ground with this hype, _

_ ‘cause the  _ sky _fucking trembles when a Strider takes the mic._

 

_ Now Mister C., he’s the boss, spittin’ welcome and goodnight, _

_but he says I need my own flare, and he’s motherfuckin’ right. _

_ So turn on, tune in and take some fuckin’ notes, _

_ ‘cause when these rhymes make the headlines,  _

_you better believe they won’t misquote. _

 

_ First off I got an obit _

_ for that piece of shit _

_ beta clock-collar Carlos made ad hoc. _

_ It did its time, _

_ but that thing was a fucking crime _

_ against humanity. _

_ Call it vanity or insanity, _

_ but that feces is resting in pieces _

_ after falling from someplace really fucking high.  _

_ Yours truly just proved it conclusively, time can't fly.  _

 

_ Flavor Dave is dead, _

_ thank gog Night Vale doesn’t have a quest bed,_

_that shit will never get resurrected, _

_ and with this sick new watch NV’s still well-protected _

_ from my homicidal tempus-tantrums. _

_ (Nope. Themed puns are definitely still not cool.)  _

 

_ But let’s rewind a second, _

_turn back time a second, _

_ ‘cause while I’ve gotten mostly accustomed to Night Vale’s terminal crazy  _

_ (which on its own fucking scares me), _

_it makes a shitty first impression. _

 

_ There’s some serious 1984 shit goin’ down here, _

_more Big Bros watching than there are character deaths in a Hussie-year. _

_ (That’s right, suck it fourth wall.) _

_ Then there’s the “dog park,”  _

_ put that in quotations marks, _

_ then surround it with 20-foot-tall, electrified walls, _

_ and hope to god that whatever’s in there doesn’t get out.  _

 

_We've got a subway _

_ that only goes one way, _

_and it ain’t fuckin’ North, South, East or West. _

_ I’d be under virtual house arrest  _

_ if this entire town _

_ wasn’t the size of one of Karkitten’s horns up and down. _

 

_ A faceless old woman somehow lives in ALL of the houses, _

_ except for the one that doesn’t exist, which leads to a mountain _

_ that I’m not even allowed to fucking mention _

_ because it would upset the socioreligious order, _

_ enforced at the border, _

_ along with ALL HAIL, OBEY and SUBMIT. _

 

_ I’ve seen those messages before, _

_ and still the worst, most terrible horror,  _

_ is that the staff at Dark Owl  _

_ don’t know Tupac from Weird fucking Al. _

__

_ But despite all that crap, _

_ there are people here _

_ who could have broken their backs _

_ under all the confusion, the hatred and fear. _

 

_ You got Mister C., he’s too hot to handle, _

_spittin’ more fire than Hiram McDaniels, _

_and Carlos, his BF, always holdin’ back the tide _

_ of the supernatural shitstorm that would descend if he let it fucking try. _

_ That old woman Josie, she’s a fox with blue hair, _

_ and if you ask me those angels ain’t just changin’ lightbulbs up in there. _

_ Then there’s my homegirl Tamika, fightin’ for the cause, _

_ she’s a goddamn game changer if ever there was. _

 

_ And this goes for all the citizens of this shit-crazy town: _

_ there’s only so long you can make ‘em bow down.  _

 

_ And as for Strex, stackin’ decks, _

_ keepin’ tabs, always speakin’ in prefabs, _

_ now you know what we’re all about. _

_ And you better watch the clock, _

_ ‘cause your time is running out.  _

 

_ Tick tock motherfuckers. _

 

_ Fuck! I can’t drop the mic ‘cause it’s attached to the fucking desk. _


	11. We Are Just as Safe as We Have Always Been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, don't Dave and Carlos look festive? 
> 
> Thanks to Chippy for the developing AJ/black market idea! And thanks to BadWolfBelle for some colorful phrases and references!

In financial news, Night Vale’s black market is booming. According to our resident black market economist, Evan Archstone, sales of a certain banned fruit juice — I’ll give you a hint, listeners, it rhymes with Snapple, which, coincidentally, is also banned — are higher than they have ever been since we started keeping track of that kind of thing. And by we, I mean the very old, very powerful, and very numbers-oriented forces that founded our little town, and were its custodians until very recently in their eyes, and remain its guardians still. 

Listeners, my wonderful Carlos, whose perfect features were sculpted by entirely  _fictional_  angels, and whose head is occasionally as high in the fictional clouds as those fictional angels, like this morning when he said he would make coffee, and ended up making toxic, metallic sludge after he accidentally put his jar of copper ore back on the shelf where the coffee grounds go after another one of his late-night, “I’m-sorry-Cecil-but-I-have-to-check-this-one-thing-the-safety-of-Night-Vale-could-be-at-stake” experiments, ruining the very nice coffee maker that Leonard Burton gave to me to commemorate my first full month of internship at this radio station, or at least, that is what is inscribed on the side of the machine,  _that_ Carlos, has been working with intern Dave recently to better understand his self-described “god tier” powers. 

It is important to understand what intern Dave is able to do, and how he is able to do it, because, though I am sure he is dear to many of us here in Night Vale, he also poses a significant threat to our continued existence, and it is important to understand that threat, so that we may reconcile with our fate, as we have done for the, oh, some odd thousand other grave threats to our daily livelihoods.

From what I understand, they have made some good progress. Carlos gave me a highlight reel of sorts of their most significant breakthroughs so far, which, I confess, I have yet to watch. But, seeing as this is a matter of public interest, and  _concern_ , we can watch it together, dear listeners! Or rather, I can watch, and you can listen. 

_ \- click - _

_ Alright. Let’s get this show on the road, onto the freeway, and to the airport to buy the cheapest ticket from here to scientific discovery. It’s almost Christmas though, so the lines will be long, and we’ll probably be stuck behind some clueless old geezer who last saw the inside of a plane in World War II. Did you bring a good book, Carlos? _

_ I’m assuming that means you’re ready to get started.  _

_ You know what they say about assuming things, Doc. _

_ You know, Dave, if you don’t want to do this, I can’t make you. But seeing as it was partly your idea in the first place, I expected a little more cooperation. _

_ No, I want to do it.  _

_ Good. Let’s start with something simple then, shall we? What would you say your most basic temporal ability is? _

_ Probably fucking with an object’s timeline. Fast-forwarding it to what it will probably be like in the future, or rewinding it to how it was at some point in the past.  _

_ Does that work on people as well? _

_ Dunno, probably. It’s the same idea. Do you want to look five years younger, Carlos? _

_ If I understand the theory correctly, I would actually  _ be  _five years younger, wouldn’t I? The past five years of my life, my memory, gone?_

_ Yeah, that’s how it works. _

_ Then no thank you. I wouldn’t give up the past five years for anything.  _

_ Aw, your sentimentality is touching, Doc. I might have to file a sexual harassment suit if it gets any more touching. But it’ll be a hollow victory with the years of therapy I’ll need to recover from the traumatic experience.   _

_...You know Dave, maybe you  _ would _benefit from some psychiatric counseling._

_ Yeah, maybe. I met a cat psychiatrist the other day. She seemed nice.  _

_ But you’re not a cat. _

_ No, but alt-future me was half bird. Maybe it translates?  _

_...I think there’s a pot/kettle situation between you and Cecil. Anyway, why don’t you try aging this coyote skull by one thousand years? _

_ Dude. There are enough pots and kettles here to give Crocker a wet dream. What’s with the skull? _

_ I have to verify the object’s age with radiocarbon dating. The test requires a measurement of the carbon-14 isotope absorbed by all living matter in a predictable way according to atmospheric composition, and the half-life of which is merely common knowledge. In other words, the material has to be organic. After that, it’s fairly straightforward to correct for the slight variations in atmospheric carbon-14 that are well-documented in the fossil record. Although, if you’re aging a skull from the present day, I’m not sure those corrections would be appropriate— _

_ Okay, yeah, I get it. You’re gonna do the sciencey thing. Just give me the skull. Alright, one vintage coyote skull, coming right up... I guess it changed color a little. Browner. Couple cracks. Really not that exciting.  _

_ Let me just run the test... Oh, Dave, this is extraordinary! Within the error parameters of the test, it would seem that your accuracy is nearly exact at one-thousand years.  _

_ Yeah, that’s ‘cause I aged the thing by a thousand years exactly.  _

_ But how? Are you counting in some way?  _

_ No, I just know. It’s like... Fuck, the English language doesn’t have words for this shit. There are two kinds of time, alright? Let’s call them red time and blue time. Wait, I sound like Karkat’s nerdy, lithping hacker troll friend. Let’s go with green time and orange time. No, shit, that’s teen Bro and adventure John! Oh god, we’ve corrupted every color, haven’t we? Fuck it, there’s red time and blue time. Red time is linear, like a literal time-line. It’s already been decided in the past at any given point, but is still being settled in the future. Red time is the reason I can’t predict the future very far, ‘cause the course of events is still being decided. We’ve been over this. Moving on. But blue time is like age or something. It’s more...cumulative. So when I aged that skull just now, I found the point in its potential red time a thousand years from now, and pumped it full of that much more blue time. But that’s not necessarily what it will actually be like in a thousand years. Like, if it fell down some stairs and shattered into a million pieces, that has nothing to do with blue time. It’s a thing that’s still being decided in red time that I can’t manipulate directly. Get it? _

_ Oddly enough, I think I do. But...do you have to be in contact with the object that you’re temporally manipulating? For example, you were holding the skull when you aged it, but could you undo the blue time that you added to it from where you’re standing?  _

_ Just did. It’s harder at a distance though, both to locate the object in red time, and to judge the right proportions of blue time to fuck with, but since I’d just done all that, I still had a feel for it. _

_ Extraordinary... _

_*****************************************************************************************************************************************************_

_Alright, I can only restrain my scientific curiosity for so long. Let’s talk about time travel. _

_ Yeah, time travel, okay... Hey Carlos, can I ask you a question? _

_ Of course. _

_ This is... Heh. I was gonna say “this is gonna sound strange,” but I guess I never have to preface anything with that crappy cliché ever again. We’re on Earth, right? _

_ Um, I think the preface would have been appropriate for that one actually. But yes, Night Vale is definitely on Earth, though I can understand the confusion. Why do you ask? _

_ I just remembered the other day, Earth isn’t supposed to exist anymore. It was destroyed when we started playing the game. _

_ Well, it obviously wasn’t, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  _

_ Yeah, I know it wasn’t. That’s the problem. Fuck, I mean, it’s not a problem, it’s great, but it’s a major inconsistency. You don’t remember a giant, apocalyptic meteor shower about four years ago?  _

_ No, that would be something I’d remember. In fact, I was working at the Austin Observatory at that time, so I would have been one of the first to know about a meteor shower like that.  _

_ No shit, you’re an Aussie? I’m from Houston.  _

_ Oh. Neat! _

_ Okay, don’t strain yourself. I know it’s a shit-hole. It’s just nice to meet another person from back home. Anyway, I guess I’ll just have to untangle the paradoxical clusterfuck that is the Earth’s tenuous existence on my own. Where were we before this legendarily unproductive divergence, the nonexistent accomplishments of which will be forever enshrined in the blank annals of anti-history?  _

_ Time travel. _

_ Oh yeah. Okay, let me tell you about ho–I mean time travel. I don’t know what I was about to say there. The thing with time travel is, there are a bunch of ways to go about it, and you kind of just have to roll with it and try not to butterfly-effect the whole world into oblivion.  _

_ That’s not very scientific... You had such a nice explanation of timeline alteration the other day.  _

_ Ugh you like the red time/blue time thing? Fine, I can do that. I’ll paint you a beautiful crimson and azure picture. Time travel is pretty much all red time, okay? It’s all about moving around in the alpha timeline. Or, sorry, would you prefer the magenta timeline? _

**_ *sigh*  _ ** _ Alpha is fine.  _

_ Awesome. Okay, so when I used to do this kind of shit, before I was a god tier, I had to do everything in stable time loops. That means a bunch of Daves running around doing certain things at certain times and then going on to do the next thing at the next time to maintain an internally consistent alpha timeline. If I didn’t do that, I’d create an offshoot, doomed timeline. You’re a genius, I’m sure you can figure out what that means. Paradox space doesn’t like inconsistencies.  _

_ Now that I’m a god tier though, I can kind of do whatever the fuck I want. I can still go the stable time loops route, but why the hell would I want to put myself through that monotonous shit again? Now, it’s like I’m creating my own timeline rather than following it. Which is really fucking dangerous and I have to be really careful now or I could end up writing over the alpha timeline. Now, when I travel in time, I don’t have to make copies of myself, I can just  _ go _. I still exist at every point in my own timeline, but when I double back, I’m gone from the present until I come back to it (and I can come back to whatever point I want, so I can make it like I was never even gone) and I can either assume the place of one of my past selves for a while, or travel back in a divergent timeline and then there's two of me at that point. And any changes I make affect the alpha timeline from that point on. So if I make any_  drastic _changes, they won't just_ affect _the alpha timeline, they'll rewrite it_ _, and my version of the future becomes a doomed timeline and I'll have to die a horrible, bloody death along with pretty much everything else. Paradox space can handle parallel and diverging and re-converging timelines - they're practically its raison d'être - but ironically, temporal paradoxes don't tend to fare too well. That’s why I agreed to being your test subject for a while, Doc. I’m not doing this for science, I’m doing it to make posi-fucking-tively sure that I don’t fuck everything up again._

_ If that’s how it really works, then can’t you just travel back to before you and your friends started playing that game, and make sure you never played it?  _

_...I tried that, but no one exists anymore outside the game. All of our timelines were created in-game through Egbert’s creepy ecto-paradox shit, so I guess it makes sense that they were unwritten with our sessions. Although under that theory I shouldn't exist anymore either. I dunno, maybe paradox space let me continue to exist just for the irony... All I do know is that my timeline now starts out in the middle of the desert a few months ago, and everything before the game is gone.  _

_ I see. I’m sorry.  _

_ Yeah, so am I.  _

_...You’ve only talked about traveling back into the past so far. Can you travel into the future? _

_ Are you asking if I go both ways, Carlos? _

_ You know what I mean! _

_ Sure. It’s more difficult though, ‘cause the future’s still being written, manifest destiny, blah, blah, blah, etcetera. Basically, it gets harder to keep moving forward the further I go, as more things haven’t been decided yet, until the waters just get too choppy and I can’t go any farther. That point’s generally a few months out.  _

_ Hmm.  _

_ Then there was a bunch of other time jackassery that happened in the game that not even I understand all of, but now we’ve covered the basic toolbox. Like, timeline alteration and time travel are your paint brush and paint bucket in MS Paint. From there you just fill in the empty spaces with crappy clip art.  _

_ Can you travel in time with another person? _

_ Well, I can take stuff back with me like my clothes (to the disappointment of millions, I know) so I don’t see why it wouldn’t work with another person. Were you thinking of anyone in particular, my dear, perfect Carlos? _

_ You’re getting better at that...It’s a little uncanny. But yes, I was hoping I could experience it first-hand.  _

_ Let’s give it a shot then. Worst case scenario, you’ll just be left standing here like a ditched prom date. You gotta hold my hand though. Or we can link arms and skip off into the void like the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. Your choice.  _

_ Huh. Big hands.  _

_ That’s not scientifically— _

_ Okay, here goes nothing. _

_ [30 seconds of dead airspace]  _

_ Th-That was...! _

_ Your little five-year-old self? Yeah, we just followed your timeline back thirty years. You definitely went through an awkward toddler phase, man. At that age I already had more class than the deeply entrenched social strata of this tragically flawed country.  _

_ What were those red discs that appeared out of nowhere? _

_ You mean these? _

_ Y-yes. _

_ These are my Timetables. Time travel with these pieces of machinery is to time travel without them as drawing on a tablet is to drawing with the fucking mousepad. Alternatively, if you look up the definition of “sick beats,” it will be a picture of these babies.   _

_ Okay... And why did you take Einstein– I mean, um, the stuffed rabbit away from me? I remember losing it when I was that age... Or is that because we just went back and took it?  _

_ Yeah, I don’t know what’s with these rabbits, but they’re pretty much required to go through weird time shenanigans. We were merely empty vessels being shamelessly used by the mysterious ways of the great spirit-cosmos. I feel violated, to be honest.  _

_ I suppose I should run some tests on Einstein then. To determine whether he’s spacio-temporally stable.  _

_ May your research assistant be of any assistance? I have fuckall else to do today. _

_ Yes, would you bring me a scalpel? _

_ Comin’ right up. _

_ \- click -  _

Well, there you have it, listeners. Carlos and my intern have such a lovely working relationship, don’t they? Dave almost never opens up to me like that. Though, to be fair, some people don't find me very approachable... Anyway, it appears that we are just as safe as we have always been. Which is to say, not safe at all. In fact, we are all in grave, grave danger. You should keep looking over your shoulder periodically, listeners. And the faint of heart...may not want to look at all.  

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight. 


	12. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Chippy for the AJ/black market idea (sans time shenanigans)!

Listeners, I am afraid I have some bad news, and some news that, when compared to the bad news, is really not  _that_ bad. I will start with the bad news. 

Last night, our very own intern Dave was arrested, tried and convicted of the possession and sale of a contraband substance, more specifically, apple juice. Now, I am putting aside my disappointment in my wayward charge for a minute, to relay all of the facts to you, dear listeners. A mere few hours after intern Dave left the radio station, the Sheriff’s Secret Police were called to his low-rise apartment on an anonymous tip— Argh! You know what, we all know it was you,  _Steve Carlsberg!_ And I just have to say, that was a really  _despicable_  thing to do. Yes, Dave was doing something he, legally, should not have been doing, but I like to think that all of us here in Night Vale share a close sense of solidarity, community even, and to turn on each other like a pack of feral dogs,  _Steve_ , is to directly tear apart that community, and undermine everything I am working for here at Night Vale Community Radio. And really, who among us hasn’t done something legally...questionable in our lives? I, for one, know that  _your_  window box petunias,  _Steve Carlsberg_ , are  _not_ in compliance with the new photosynthesis regulations. And now, the Sheriff’s Secret Police do too. Think about what you have done when they arrive at your house in about...five minutes. 

Upon breaking into intern Dave’s apartment, the Sheriff’s Secret Police found and seized some five-hundred bottles of the illicit elixir in question, which is considerably more than what may or may not still be in the station safe, as well as alchemy paraphernalia and order forms and distribution lists, which were encoded through the use of nicknames such as mayoralMadamme, angelicallyTouched and coiffedPhysicist. Of course, the Sheriff’s Secret Police have no idea to which Night Vale citizens these pseudonyms apply, and so they are not bothering to investigate the lead any further. 

As procedure dictates, intern Dave was held in custody for the entire twenty minutes of his trial and sentencing hearings, which ran considerably longer than those kinds of things usually do, considering the universally compulsory guilty plea. Exactly what the judge, members of a vague, yet menacing government agency, Sheriff’s Secret Police officers and certain key StrexCorp representatives were discussing during that time, has not been released to the public as of yet. 

Which brings us to the relatively not-so-bad news, listeners. As punishment for his crimes, intern Dave has been placed under indefinite anti-arrest. To those of you who are unfamiliar with this unusually lenient sentence—and don’t feel bad, listeners, I had to look this one up—an anti-arrest is a command for all law enforcement officers and legislative officials to stay at least five-hundred yards away from the person under it upon penalty of death. So, to comply with the anti-arrest, the Sheriff’s Secret Police will have to release intern Dave from custody as soon as the proper paperwork is filed, and the anti-arrest goes into effect. I have been in contact with Dave, and he says he will be coming into the radio station straight from the Sheriff’s Secret Police station, the location of which will be erased from his memory upon exiting the building, as well as any memories of his time there. Say what you will about his problem with a certain illicit substance, listeners, but intern Dave is a diligent worker. Although, his coming in today straight from his time in custody at the Sheriff’s Secret Police station may also have something to do with the fact that he was evicted from his apartment, and all other future apartments, as a supplementary punishment, and so he has literally nowhere else to go. 

Now, Carlos and I, wonderfully generous and kind and lovely Carlos and I, had a little chat, and we decided to offer Dave the spare bedroom in our– um, Carlos’– no,  _our_ home, which he has graciously accepted until he can find his own place again...that isn’t an apartment...that he can afford on a public radio intern’s salary. 

Listeners, I have always wanted a child of my own. I had been hoping for a sweet, beautiful little daughter, but a sulky, teenage son who is, perhaps, equally beautiful in an exotic, albino sort of way, could be just as nice. For over the past—my, it must be nearly a year now, I  _have_ come to see Dave much like a son. As long as he is in my employ, I consider it my responsibility that he makes it at least to age twenty-five with all of his essential organs and body parts in tact, and really, isn’t that what fathers are for? 

_\- door hinges -_

Hey Mister C. Sup Night Vale.

Dave! I’m so glad they didn’t decide to execute you! 

Yeah... I got this weird feeling they might have been...scared of me. And this whole thing about kicking me out of my apartment just reminds me of one of Vantas’ pathetic, last-ditch insults when his argument was reduced to a blazing train wreck and the only thing he had left in his futile attempts to put out the fire and salvage any remains for a decent funeral was the pail of water that was the last word. Hehe. Pail. 

Regardless, you did a very wrong and reckless thing. I don’t know how it goes in  _Houston_ , but here in Night Vale, sale of banned substances is a serious crime, and I feel I must—

Let me guess, you’re not angry, you’re just disappointed in me. That’s the kind of thing a stern father would say. I think. I'm not calling you daddy by the way. 

Well, I’m a bit of both actually, but what I was going to say was, I feel I must be harsh where law enforcement has chosen to be merciful, to impress upon you the severity of your crime. I am therefore revoking your vascular-spiritual synchronicity privileges for one month.

Dude, you know that means about as much to me as taking away my mascara and my pretty floral bonnet, right?

_ *Shhh! I do, but _they _don’t.*_

_ *And you also know that whispering on the radio doesn’t make everyone in Night Vale any less able to hear everything you’re saying?* _

_ *Um. Quick, put on the weather!*  _

Yeah, alright, here’s the weather.

_ [musical interlude] _

Listeners, I am afraid that our intern Dave is so devastated by what he has done that he has fallen into a state of delirium. Please disregard everything he has said during the program, and let me leave you with a few words that you have no doubt heard many times before, but that may be a comfort to you on this cold desert night. Home is where the heart is. Whose heart, and exactly where within the structure of your house it is hidden, is for you to find out. 

Let’s go home, Dave. Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight. 


	13. Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cecil definitely just read the Wikipedia page on black holes that morning. Also, since when did Cecil become the normal one...?

And now, traffic.

Route 800 is clear in the Northbound direction all the way to Exit 5. There is an accident in the Southbound direction near Exit 66, however, that has traffic backed up for about half a mile. It seems that some kind of large, live cargo transporter has overturned, blocking the entire lane. The cargo vehicle sustained significant damage, but the driver expressed less concern for the damage to his vehicle than for what appears to have escaped from it. 

The Eastern Expressway became riddled with potholes overnight, and so driving on it is not advised. A detour has been hastily created along an indeterminate route through the open desert, but due to the road’s dubious quality, as well as the fact that the Highway Department denies any involvement in its construction, taking the detour is also not advised. 

A black hole is a region of spacetime from which nothing, neither light nor matter, can escape. It will absorb anything that passes a surrounding, mathematically defined border known as an event horizon, the equation for the radius of which Carlos nearly had tattooed on his lower back in his younger, wilder days. I am in equal parts mildly disappointed, and immensely relieved that he did not do so, as it would have marred his perfect skin, but it might also have been kind of sexy. Also, black holes may or may not be punctures in the universe as we know it through to whatever is outside. This has been Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

 The City Council has just announced a temporary closure of Mission Grove Park after one of the park-goers, while engaging in the common pastime of pointing and screaming at the void that is the night sky, stumbled upon the release lever of a secret door to a network of subterranean tunnels. Where these tunnels lead is as yet unknown, as the release lever also set off a booby trap involving deadly neurotoxin, and the park-goer was killed. The Sheriff’s Secret Police observed all of this on their surveillance cameras biotechnologically fused with every tree in Night Vale, and they quarantined the park immediately. 

The identity of the park-goer has been confirmed as former NVCR intern, Violet Hanson. She was one of Leonard Burton’s interns back in the day, and had apparently retired to lead a happy, domestic life. Though she never worked here under my direction, I feel obliged to offer my condolences to her family, as is befitting of the honorable death of another intern felled before her time. As Leonard always said, once an NVCR intern, always an NVCR intern, and we have lost another noble member of our intern family today. 

_[intercom]_

_ Uh, Cecil? Is this a regular thing, or...? _

Dave, don’t interrupt in the middle of the broadcast, it’s rude. Anyway, the rest of the City Council’s announcement was...rather inscrutable actually. They went on to say something about the future having already passed, and expound on the medical health benefits of having a split personality, particularly when combatting loneliness and depression, as if that  _wasn’t_ old news, and then they proceeded to make a series of possibly obscene gestures with mouths agape, and really listeners, what am I supposed to do with that? 

You know, sometimes I wonder about this town. Everything can be so frustratingly  _obtuse_  sometimes, and I think, there  _must_ be an easier way to do things in a town. Listening to Carlos, and now Dave, talk about life in Austin and Houston, and their friends’ lives in other places all around the world, I almost start to believe what Carlos says about us here in Night Vale being the strange ones, and everyone – and every _where –_ else being normal. 

But I think...I am just tired, listeners. So very, very tired. And I fear my lack of sleep over the past week has compromised the quality of my broadcasts to you more and more, and for that I sincerely apologize. Looking back, tonight’s broadcast has just been...strange. I have only had half a clue what I’ve been saying since the beginning, but I think I talked about  _road conditions_  through the entire traffic segment, which is just  _unacceptable_. 

However, and I am not one to make excuses, especially when there really is no excuse, but the reporter in me feels that you, dear listeners, are owed a report, some explanation, for why I have let you down. The home that I now share with Carlos and intern Dave, the one place where I should be able to feel at least a  _semblance_ of safety when I close my eyes at night, has become a minefield! Not quite literally, but between Carlos’ mislaid caustic chemicals and unstable compounds that combust if they are so much as jostled, and Dave’s sharp, bladed weapons that he leaves in the microwave, sinks, couch cushions, tall cabinets and other equally inappropriate spaces, I simply can’t relax for a second! 

Maybe...I got into some bad habits living the life of a bachelor. After all, none of us can ever safely let our guard down under  _any_ circumstances, and I had grown all too used to having a couple hours in the evening after the show just to decompress. Maybe take a nap, or make myself a snack. Maybe that was just me being naïve. And really, I can live with deadly chemicals and weapons lying around every corner. I’ll just have to...adjust! But we live in a desert listeners, and what I really  _cannot stand_ , is— Well, Dave probably won’t appreciate me bringing this up on the air, but this is my show, and I can say what I please. Unless of course, it relates to any of the items on that list of things I’m not allowed to say on my show. Actually, I think mentioning the list is on the list. So...forget I mentioned the list! What I absolutely cannot abide are Dave’s hour-long, sometimes  _two-_ hour-long, showers. Not only does the boy apparently not know the meaning of water conservation, but there is  _still_  no hot water by the next morning! Now, I know some people think that a cold shower sharpens the mind and body, but I am just not one of those people! I am reaching the edge of my limits in that house, and if I turn on the water one more time to find it colder than the void itself, I think I might—

_\- door hinges -_  

Dude, calm down.

I am perfectly calm!

Uh, yeah. You need to learn how to work shit out with people face-to-face. You’re like a loser teenager who only has internet friends so he doesn’t actually  _talk_  to anyone and instead he just posts snarky complaints on his blog or rants on Pesterchum behind the person’s back... Shit. Never mind, that was a terrible metaphor. My point is, you don’t have the right to be the epitome of temperance at home and then come in here and spew nothing but whining and complaining into your microphone. If you don’t like something Carlos or I is doing, you need to say so, to whichever one of us is doing it. Directly. Then we can work out some wicked compromises yo. I’ll cut back the time I spend on my mad sacred ablutions, and I’ll try not to leave my transcendently crappy swords around so much. And I’m sure Carlos will do the same for his volatile experiments if you just ask him. 

Oh. That all sounds so obvious now that you’ve said it. I guess I  _have_  been going behind both of your backs and abusing my station as a radio talk show host. I’m sorry.

It’s fine. You’ve learned the moral of the story, we can move on. 

Alright, where was I? Oh. That’s right. I was reporting on the City Council’s latest announcement, if you could even call it that. The City Council just makes me so  _frustrated_ sometimes—

Hey, why don’t I take over for awhile, Mister C.? You can catch up on your beauty sleep, and I’ll come wake you during the weather.  

Oh no, I couldn’t possibly! That would be highly irregular! Oh, but that couch in the break room does sound very inviting right now. And as a future co-host, you  _do_ need more on-the-job experience... Alright, you have yourself a deal, Mister Strider! I’ll see you after the weather!

_\- door hinges -_  

Goodnight, Cecil. And welcome, listeners, to Knight Vale. Fuck. I said that with a K. You know, ‘cause I’m the Knight of Time... Fuck the radio. 


	14. A Time Oddity (or, Homestuck)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THIS ONE’S LONG. I’m luxuriating a little in domestic life, hope you guys don’t mind. Updates will be a little slower in coming now, ‘cause I have tons of other stuff to do, but there is still much more to the story. Also, I feel like a DHMIS 2 reference is in order soon...
> 
> Thanks to striders4life for the Faceless Old Woman/Rose idea!
> 
> Hint: highlight! Unless you want to read that bit as Dave talking to himself, which would also work.

**[9:18am? – Mic 1: kitchen]**

Cecil, what have I told you about microphones and recording equipment in the house?

That they belong here as much as dogs belong in the public dog park?  

Exactly. So why is there a microphone on our kitchen table recording everything we’re saying?  

Sup Cecilos. 

Good morning, Dave! I’ve made eggs and shadow beast bacon for breakfast. 

Sweet I love shadow beast. Oh and by the way Carlos, don’t blame Mister C. for the microphones, I brought them home.

Why? Wait, microphones? Plural? 

Yeah, there are a bunch around the house. This place is rigged up tighter than a sixteenth century Spanish galleon sailing off on a glorious journey to the unknown edges of the known world. 

Okay, I believe you that there are a lot of microphones. But why?

We’ve been getting a lot of emails at the station about doing a human interest story–slash–documentary piece on our very own household. Apparently our listeners are a bunch of nosy little shits. And apparently some of those emails contained a virus that took over the station computer and is now messing with random shit until we broadcast the piece. It hid all of my SBAHJ files, and that’s just not cool. That’s like number six of the Ten Bro Commandments: “thou shalt not fuck with a bro’s ironic webcomic.” Right after “honor thy best bro and thy best bro’s mom.” Oh also, I might have been hypnotized or something, because I was thinking that this whole virus thing was stupid and I should just slash the computer in half and pay for a new one out of my AJ funds, but then it did this flashing thing, and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea to bug the hell out of the house and broadcast to all of Night Vale our private conversations in their entirety for a full day. 

Well I’m sure we can all pitch in for a new station computer. Let’s just take all the microphones back to the station—

Don’t you fucking dare touch that microphone, Carlos.

EEEK! ***Ahem*** I mean, um, Dave, why are you pointing your sword at me?

Fuck. I don’t know, but you’ve gotta back away from the microphone. 

Okay, okay, I’ve backed off. Will you put the sword down now?

Yeah. Done. 

Cecil, how often do your interns get hypnotized? 

Um, I think there was one incident a few years ago... Yes, intern Justin! He fell under the thrall of a mysterious luminescent orb that spontaneously generated in the back of Big Rico’s Pizza one evening. Everyone thought the orb was friendly, and that Justin had been blessed with its pure white light of truth, but as it turned out, the orb just wanted to leach our minds of all original thought. The Sheriff’s Secret Police Accursed And/Or Malevolent Objects Diffusion Squad destroyed the orb with a barrage from several flamethrowers, but it was too late to save Justin. Or Justin’s mind anyway. 

Somehow none of that was relevant to our current situation. Can you take me into the station to have a look at this computer? I think I know enough from having a bunch of Comp-Sci majors as college friends to purge a virus. 

Certainly! A computer should _not_ be left in charge of the radio station by any means. Not after what happened last time.

I’m sorry, Cecil. I'm afraid I can’t let you do that. Oh come on, _HAL? Really?_ This computer seriously needs to update its pop culture databases. Anyway, you guys can’t leave, sorry. I’ve made a temporal fissure around this house so a day in here will pass in an hour out there, and I wouldn’t recommend trying to cross it. Unless it’s always been your dream to scatter your corporeal form throughout all of time. Which, knowing Cecil, I wouldn’t be surprised. 

So we can’t leave, and we can’t touch the microphones... You said one day?

Yup. At least we won’t starve. 

** *long sigh* ** Okay. I can do one day. What do you think, Cecil?

 Well I wasn’t going to say anything, because you seemed kind of upset, but I’m actually...really...excited about this! I’ve been wanting to get out and cover more stories myself lately, but I just never found the time, and now Dave has literally _made_ time, and I’m actually being forced to do a story on pain of bodily temporal dispersion! It’s perfect!   

Wow dude, you deserve the fucking trophy of half-filled glasses. 

So what are we supposed to do for the day? Did the virus make any demands?

Well you could start with an attitude adjustment, Carlos. The virus doesn’t appreciate that tone of voice. Besides, it’s not like we’re hostages. 

We are exactly that.

Okay, yeah, I see your point. Saw it, walked right into it, impaled myself on it. We’re technically hostages. But we’re not supposed to _ behave_ like hostages. Our listeners just want a little exposé on our private lives, so we’re just supposed to act normally. Normal for us anyway. While we're stuck at home. Homestuck. Pretty sure that's not a word but it illustrates the point. So we act just like we would if there was, I don’t know, a Biblically-proportioned sandstorm raging outside. You like dumbed-down time metaphors, think of it as the sands of time. 

Was that you being snarky just now or the computer virus? Because I can’t dock the _virus‘_ research assistant pay.

Definitely the virus talking. Bro Commandment number nine: “thou shalt not bait a bro for failing to grasp something a literal vegetable would understand, and/or for his puppet fetish.” Not cool, virus. 

Lovely. I’m taking my breakfast to my workroom to do science. 

Can I watch?

No, you should stay out of that room. In your condition, we don’t know what might set you off. Just keep yourself occupied...in a non-destructive way.

_– fading footsteps –_  

You know, Dave, you do seem quite susceptible to this town’s little quirks. You should try to be more resolute of mind and resilient of character. If you fill yourself, then the rest of the world won’t push its way in so easily. I think...my brother said that to me. Or it might have been Dana. 

Thanks, Mister C. Although a good time to drop sagely and suggestive wisdom like that might have been _before_ I got possessed by a creeper computer virus and trapped us all in a localized time vortex. 

Mhmmm... Dave, do you suddenly get the feeling that there are hordes of venomous spiders gathering to invade the house?

Time vortex, Cecil. Nothing gets through it. In or out. 

M _hmm_... I’m going to go check all the doors and windows. I’ll see you soon. 

_ – quickly fading footsteps – _

That man and his spiders. 

_ – plates and silverware clanking – _

Sweet I love cold shadow beast. 

  

**[10:15am? – Mic 4: workroom]**

Um, hello Night Vale. Since the opportunity has not only presented itself, but has sort of beat us all over the head, I’m going to take this time to warn you all of an alarming discovery I have made recently that Cecil, bless him, has failed to communicate to you like I asked him to. A few days ago I began to notice that the color pink seemed to be fading from certain areas of Night Vale. I’ve run some tests, and determined that it is definitely the color that is disappearing, and not a trick of my own eyes. Further tests showed that the chemical structure of pink things is becoming increasingly unstable and possibly harmful. So far, the disappearance of pink has been localized to a few areas of Night Vale like the northern half of 42nd Street and the Barista District, but at this point, I recommend staying away from all areas where you notice an absence of the color pink. Also areas where there is an abundance of pink, as the reaction might go off at any time. I still don’t know what is causing this, but I will continue my study and update you all on my findings soon. In the meantime, do _not_ touch anything pink. In fact, it may be a good idea to avoid red and purple too, just to be safe. Although I’d have a tough time of it in this household... 

I’m beginning to wonder why I’m still trying to impress upon you people the gravity and danger of these things. I mean, you live in a place where an _ice cream cone_ could probably kill you, or at least severely alter your state of existence. And yet, none of you seem to care. You all lead happier lives than most of the people I know back in...the real world. Maybe that’s how you do it. You just ignore the danger and get on with life. Maybe here, that’s the only way _to_ do it, and maybe I’m doing you all a disservice by trying to make you concerned. 

_[distant]_

_ Oh Carloooos! I have another arachnid specimen for you~_

I’m in here.

Carlos, you look... _concerned._ Is it about Dave? Because I know we got off to a bit of a rocky start with him – he really makes it difficult for other people to get along with him, but I think he’s just set up a lot of protective barriers after everything that happened   before he got here – and I know we will never really be like parents to him, but I’ve always envied _your_ relationship with him. You both work so well together, even despite that time he nearly killed you while he was under the murderous thrall of time itself, and I don’t think you should let a little thing like a routine hostage situation get in the way of—

Cecil, I wasn’t thinking about Dave. He’s just being a teenager in Night Vale, which, god help him, no one should have to deal with. I was just...wondering whether my work is all that important here.

Oh. It’s important to you, isn’t it?

Well, yes.

Then it’s important to me, and it’s important to Night Vale. The community radio waves are suffused with subtle subconscious suggestion, after all. So whatever I think is important, my listeners think is perhaps worth paying just a little more attention to than they did before.

Thank you, Cecil. I think. 

 

**[12:05pm? — Mic. 1,  kitchen]**   

So I made you guys lunch. I think I owe you an apology. I’m still not gonna close the time fissure, or maybe I can’t, but either way. I know I can be an insufferable prick sometimes, so this is my proverbial white flag. Please take it soon. My proverbial arm’s getting tired. 

This looks lovely, Dave, thank you. And I’m not mad anymore. I know you aren’t in complete control of yourself at the moment.  

What is all this?

Cecil, have I really been remiss in introducing you to Southern comfort food? Dave’s made biscuits, grits, pork chops and fried green tomatoes. 

That shit’s the only kind of food my Bro taught me to make. The man had a sick sense of humor.   

_ – plates and silverware clanking – _

This is delicious, Dave! 

Mmm agreed. 

Just so you know, this is the one and only time I’m doing this for you guys. Dave Strider is no Southern beau. 

Speaking of, you’re eighteen now, Dave. Do you know who you’re going to vote for in the upcoming mayoral election? Cecil’s officially endorsed Hiram McDaniels, but I think he mostly just likes his accent.

His blue head does have a lovely Southern accent, but that’s nothing to base such an important decision on. I am endorsing Hiram because of his excellent foreign policy plan.

Mayors don’t do foreign policy.

Don’t be silly, Dave, of course they do. There are an infinite number of foreign realms, dimensions and extradimensions from which we must be well-protected.  

Well I’m voting for the faceless old woman who secretly lives in our home. She seems like the most sensible candidate. 

That billionaire guy’s kinda cool, and he’s probably the only thing in this town StrexCorp hasn’t bought yet, but I gotta go with Carlos on this one. All of the candidates are horrendously awful and will probably kill us all, but she’s the best of the bunch.

With no disrespect to the faceless old woman who secretly lives in our home, you two might consider paying a little more deference to the one native Night Valeian at this table. 

Uh huh. I just hope you know, Mister C., that Carlos and I are here for you. You live with two Texans; you don’t have to turn to a five-headed, fire-breathing dragon just for a bit of Southern comfort~

Very funny, Dave. Even if that was what drew me to him as a candidate, which it wasn't, neither of you even have an accent. Except for Carlos when he’s thinking about something else and not paying attention to what he’s saying. Or occasionally when I ask him to in b—

** *Ahem* ** Cecil, remember our talk about over-sharing? 

Why Cecil, I’da never taken you for the type. But if it’s a rodeo yer lookin’ for, ma show’s the best in town. 

Th-That’s very inappropriate, Dave.  

He’s joking, Cecil. 

Yeah, calm down, Mister C. I don’t go for older men.

You still have a pretty good accent, Dave. One would almost think you’d been keeping in practice.

I keep it in reserve for the heaviest duty of trolling purposes only. Like, break glass in case of irony emergency. Shit, I actually don’t know why I used it just now. The only people who’ve heard me talk like that were Bro and J— _Fuck!_

_\- table slam -_

Why does it still hurt so much just to say his fucking name? And why the _fuck_ do I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to talk about my feelings? Excuse me. I’m going to my room.

_ \- chair screech - distant door slam - muffled loud music -  _

There are noise restrictions for this time of day...

I don’t think we have to worry about that, Cecil. Nothing gets through a time fissure – not even sound.

Oh. I love you, Carlos. Have I told you that yet this afternoon?

You know it’s only been 30 minutes since noon...I think... I love you too, Cecil. 

  

**[2:42pm? — Mic. 6, Dave’s room]**

 

_\- loud DJ-ing sounds (fragments of rhythms & melodies, nothing continuous) - _

Dave. How long have you known I was here? 

You’ve been standing behind me and watching me spin out my deathly ill beats like a panting, voyeuristic creep for the past 23 minutes. It’s cool though. I don’t mind an audience. 

It’s nice to have someone who notices me. For a brief time, anyway. Soon you’ll be dust again, and I will be insubstantial once more.

Yeah, well the possibility of sneaking up on a Strider approaches a limit of zero, so you’re pretty substantial to me. Did you want to talk, or do you just like to watch? 

Would you like to know when the haze of aging memory will begin to blur the contours of his face so that they no longer cut you so harshly when you dream of him at night?

_No._   

It’s a shame that the future is not so clear to you as it is to me, and that your past still lingers over your present like a dark, seeping stain in the corner of a brightly lit room that you refuse to acknowledge is there, but that nonetheless makes every smile a little more strained.

Good thing I don’t smile too often.

Yes, I suppose it is. You talk to yourself a lot. To some, that is a sign of insanity.

The voices only tell me to go shoot up Night Vale Elementary on Saturdays, so I think we’re okay.

Would you like to talk to someone else for a change?

Is there a “let’s all psychoanalyze Dave” bandwagon somewhere that I should be pushing people off of?

You do present an interesting case. 

Fine. I’ll talk to you. Just don’t talk like that. Please. 

I remind you of someone.

Yeah. Her name was Rose. Hey, do you have a name, or do I have to call you “the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home” every time I want to get your attention? I guess you could be TFOWWSLIYH for short... Nah, I just sound like I’m speaking in Parseltongue or something.

You don’t answer direct questions very often, do you?

No. And neither do you.

Who was Rose?

She was one of my best friends, and then she turned out to be my ecto-sister on top of that, and then I ripped every timeline of her existence into fun-sized fucking pieces, so if you could try not to sound so much like a witty, intuitive and deeply disturbed psychiatry and dark magic enthusiast, that would be fucking grand.  

I will certainly try.  Would you like to sit down?

Sure. Should I lie back on the bed and whine about how being a teenager is hard and no one understands? Or would you rather ask me about my relationship with my mother? 

You can lie down if that’s more comfortable for you. But I can’t ask you about your relationship with a mother you never had.

Wow, yeah, can’t put one over on you. 

I would like to hear about your brother, however. 

Um, he was killed before I ended the game. I guess I’m grateful for that. Not— Because I didn’t have to— ***sigh*** You know what I mean. 

Yes.

Are you going to ask me how that makes me feel? ‘Cause it’s pretty frigid comfort.

It’s interesting that you should start with his death. I was expecting either fond or traumatic childhood memories.

We had a wondrous cornucopia of both, but B-side Dave raised _him_ , so I guess I only have myself to blame. He would set deadly, bladed booby traps around our apartment to test my reflexes, and fill my bed with pornographic puppets. I would set fire to said puppets throughout the apartment to see how long it would take him to notice and put the fire out, and wash his shirts with mine to turn them flaming pink. He would stay up at night with AJ and take out until I got home, and sew my clothes back together after our strifes. I would make him remixes of his favorite songs, and take photos of his merch for his website so beautiful he’d have 40-year-old men calling to buy three Magnus-Ultra models and when he’d ask them what color they’d start sobbing and buy the whole line because I’d made each one look like a god damn work of art.    

Stripping away the details, the dynamics of your relationship with your brother sound very similar to those of Cecil’s relationship with his. Perhaps you would benefit from a conversation with him on the subject.

Mister C. barely remembers his brother.

Ah yes. That was unfortunate.

You know what happened, don’t you.

Yes.

Then maybe he would benefit from a conversation with you.

He wouldn’t. I’m assuming you don’t want to talk about J—

No.

For many people talking about painful memories can be cathartic, and allows them to move on from the most often unchangeable past. 

I guess I’m just a fucked up kind of special then. Only time can help, and I don’t know if it will. I don’t even know if I want it to. I probably deserve to feel like the shittiest person on the planet for the rest of my life.

By classical ethical constructs you deserve far worse than that. You committed intergalactic genocide. Even your own life offered up for the countless lives you destroyed would be wholly insufficient.

F-fuck. I know that. But I don’t know what I can _do_.   

I’ve just told you. You can’t do anything, Dave. This is the one decision in your past that you cannot go back and decide differently. Time and the universe rarely converge with such poetry as they have around you. 

I’m all kinds of honored. 

When they do, it is often to raise up someone many will later call a hero.

Haha! I had my shot at that, and I blew it to pieces. Not even that chance’s own mother could identify the body.  

Perhaps. 

Then what else do your cosmic fucking forces want from me?

As I have already said, there is nothing you can do, and so you must move on.

And as I’ve already said, I can’t. 

Then you should examine what is stopping you. 

Well isn’t that positively profound. I’ll tell you what I am ready to move on from. This conversation.

Alright. How about we talk about your friends in general. Before the game if you like. 

I’d never met them before the game.

But they still meant a lot to you. 

Yeah. For whatever reason, none of us could get as close to the people in our own lives as we could to each other. Jade was understandable – she lived alone with her sadistic god dog on a nameless Pacific island. And I guess Rose could be as fucked up and acerbic as me. I don’t know what John’s excuse was. He was a nerd, but he was good at relationships. He and his dad were close, and he had some IRL friends that were so sweet you could get diabetes if you stood next to them for too long. I don’t know why he needed us. 

You said you didn’t want to talk about—

Yeah, I know what I said. You can stop preening any time now. That’s Davesprite’s department.

John seems like proof that the four of you had something special. 

Wow, who kidnapped the heartless old woman who blatantly shits on your feelings and replaced her with Granny Sugarlump?  

People are complex, Dave. 

Don’t I know. I guess you could say we were like family, since you’re suddenly a sucker for heartwarming clichés. Especially since all of our guardians could also be passive aggressive shits. I mean now I know why, but we had no clue before that damn game.   

So you’re saying you created a family when you had very little in the way of close relationships in your life, blood or otherwise? That is what you’re saying, whether you realize it or not. 

And you’re saying I should do it all over again with Cecil and Carlos. 

I am saying that you can. If you choose to. 

Damn you’re good. I dunno, maybe... I love Carlos and Mister C., but I’m not sure I can ever see them as parents. 

You’ve never had parents. How would you know the difference?

And she’s back. I’ll think about it, okay?

That sounds reasonable.

I’m voting FOWWSLIYH for mayor, by the way.

Your vote means as much to me as the percentage of Night Vale’s population that you represent.

You’re welcome.  

 

**[8:21pm? – Mic 1: kitchen]**

 

Well, we’ve made it through dinner and none of us has said anything too embarrassing and/or incriminating, right?

_[silence]  _

At least this will all make a good story!

I am definitely dicing that computer into its base molecular units when we get back to the station tomorrow. 

Oh, speaking of molecular units, I can teach you how to make apple-less apple juice tomorrow if you come by the lab after the show.

Is that like nonalcoholic beer?

The concepts are similar.

That sounds like a lovely idea, Carlos. We’ve already seen the perils of orange juice, so who knows what apple juice is capable of. 

Sounds cool. 

And you’ll talk at least a little about my study in pink during the show? I think the problem could get very serious. 

I’ll make sure Mister C. gets around to it this time. We gotta get you better PR, dude. Cecil here’s got the whole town convinced you’re the incarnation of Michelangelo’s fucking David, but your work towards the safety of this town, however Sisyfusian, is seriously undersold. 

You think so?

I don’t put on a sexy lab coat for just anyone. 

Well, Dave, you’re the time expert here. What should we do to pass the rest of it until we’re allowed to go to bed?

That’s right, I set an anti-curfew, didn’t I? Oh god I’m starting to sound like a local. We should just get a head start on chanting the mandatory evening praises to our feared, ancient deities.   

Or we could play a game.

Why Cecil, that’s an unusual suggestion from you. 

Don’t tell me no one does family game night outside of Night Vale. Everyone plays games! 

He meant it’s unusually normal, you being the mayor of... I was going to say something lame like Uncanny Town, but I can actually just say Night Vale.

Oh heavens no, I wouldn’t dream of running for mayor! Not that mayors aren’t important, they’re _very_ important, but it’s a thankless job, and the survival rate is nearly as low as that of community radio interns. 

Never mind about mayors, I like Cecil’s idea. Let’s play a game.

You have selected Global Thermonuclear War. The first move is yours, Professor Falken. 

** *chuckles* ** I’m afraid the only way to win that game is not to play, Joshua. 

Pfft nerd.  

Oh, and it’s even funnier because you’re currently possessed by a malicious computer! Very clever! 

I don’t get it. 

Don’t worry Mister C., it’s really not that funny. 

Okay, then how about we play The Great Culling of the Zodiacs? 

Wow, that’s so culturally insensitive I can’t even make a joke about it. I just get a mental image of Karkat in tears, and then going on another one of his tirades of righteous indignation. And the other Vantas would have a field day.  

Charades?

That is the one game you could have suggested that would gain us a higher rung on the Echeladder of how idiotic we sound on these tapes than we’ve already managed to achieve.

Well then...I’m always a fan of a good game of Scrabble.

Perfect. Scrabble it is.

Alright! Which script of cuneiform are we playing with?

God damn it.


	15. One Year Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I don't know how I missed the obvious alt. title for the previous chapter.
> 
> Thanks to striders4life for getting me to write solo!Dave!

...so stop all your clocks and cover all your mirrors if you want the Great Shadow to pass over your home tonight.  

Now for horoscopes. Uh, it says horoscopes here but it’s just a title followed by a vast expanse of blank page. If someone held this page up next to a plot summery of a Nic Cage movie, I honestly wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Cecil, do you just make these things up every time?

No! They just...come to me. From the stars I assume, though I suppose there’s always the possibility that the true source is the void _around_ the stars... 

Okay, I’m just gonna make shit up.

Aries. You probably don’t need my advice. You always seemed to have things pretty figured out.  

Taurus. Yours were the illest, most decrepit fires I have ever had the honor of basking in the sickly glow of. Good job dude. 

Gemini. Sometimes I think you might have been the only sane one. I guess that’s not saying much though. 

Cancer. You were right. About a lot of things. Mostly about what it takes to be a leader. All that stuff that I don’t have, and you and John did. I’d camp out in the public library all night and read through a whole shelf of crappy troll quadrant bodice-rippers while fending off hordes of librarians with a taste for USDA Choice Strider sirloin if it would do a damn thing to bring you back. I miss you bro... God I’m glad you’re not listening to this.

Leo. Yeah, I really don’t have much to say to you, sorry. Twelve of you guys was way too many to keep track of, who the fuck made that decision? 

Virgo. You were the best thing that could have happened on that meteor. Except maybe the beautiful, tender friendship that blossomed between me and the Mayor. And whatever abusive hate-friendship Vantas and I had going. What was that part of the quadrant he was obviously trying to fill with me? Concupine? As in, _ooh Dave, will you please be my concupine?_ One more month and I might have had to implement a squirt bottle system just to get him to keep his claws off me... But seriously. You made her happy. That was the best thing.   

Libra. You could have been the strongest of all of us. But you let shit get to you. Like I did. You also got John killed, doomed our timeline and made Davesprite a flying existential crisis... Also like I did. Wow, I guess we really were perfect for each other. I feel kinda bad about that actually. I don’t think Karkat ever realized we were just fucking with him. 

Scorpio. Yeah, I still think you were a manipulative 8itch. (God damn it, why couldn’t this be a chat log?)

Sagittarius. Uh... Yeah, I got nothing. Sorry, bro. 

Capricorn. Fuck you. Fuck you and the LSD-spiked bottle of Faygo you rode in on. I’d like to see you try to come back from this one, motherfucker.  

Aquarius. Hold on a sec.... Nope, you’re still a douche. An exotic, aquatic douche, but a douche nonetheless. And you couldn’t pull off a cape if it had a fucking pull tab. 

Pisces. I never really got to know you, but you seemed like a pretty nice gal. You were probably doomed from the start.

Um. Okay, back to the news. This part I actually typed up myself. With my hands. Attached to my arms. That I definitely have. 

Carlos and his team of scientists, thanks to the assistance of the most assistive research assistant in the long history of paid servitude, finally worked up the mangrit to go inside the house that doesn’t exist, and after a few disappearances, we—

** *ahem* **

You’re serious, I really have to say the whole thing? How many non-existent houses can there be in Night...Vale. Yeah, okay. Just to be clear, we’re talking about the house in the Desert Creek Housing Development that doesn’t exist. It seems like it exists, like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not, but really we’re just confused because it doesn’t conform to our rigid, binary assumptions about the existential orientation of houses and we need to be more understanding and accept its life choices. Did I get that right?

Um...

Okay, moving on. It turns out the house is a hub of intra- and inter-dimensional portals. It’s like the Grand Central of J. J. Abrams’ wet dreams. And that’s where the disappearances come in. We lost a few of the other research assistants – who are pretty much the science equivalent of community radio interns – when they stepped through certain doorways or got too close to certain paintings on the walls. Two of them turned up in random places around town, in different timelines so yours truly had to find them and yank them back, but one’s still missing. So, to the family of Nathanael Teleki, you have the scientific community’s heartfelt condolences. Actually, I’m pretty sure most of those guys don’t give a fuck, but Nathan was a cool guy and I give plenty of fucks – if I was speaking to you in person right now you could literally look at all the fucks I give – so on behalf of all the other scientists, I’m sorry. I hope he appears soon in Old Woman Josie’s shower or something and he’ll be the butt of every Harold and Maude joke for the rest of his life. 

Obviously, this is what happened with Dana. Not the shower part, the inter-dimensional portal part. One of the portals in that house must connect to the dog park. And once she was inside the house and whatever dubious plane of existence it’s on, she came out into a parallel dimension almost exactly overlapping with ours, only at a slightly different time, when I was... Yeah, you all know that story. And then she fell back out of my game session and into our universe again. She’s really the one with ALL of the luck. 

We still don’t know what that giant underground monster she saw was, but honestly that could just be more weird Night Vale crap that’s entirely unrelated to the portal house. 

Further tests will involve stuffed bunnies pimped out with all kinds of Night Valeian science equipment to see if we can track them after we chuck them into random portals.    

_ \- paper ruffle -  _

...Cecil just handed me a note marked with the StrexCorp logo. It says that the Sheriff’s Secret Police, under a StrexCorp directive, are forming a search party to enter the house and find Nathanael Teleki in inter-dimensional space. The directive is just called “Find Him.” So...we wish you guys the best of luck with that, right Night Vale? Everyone really hopes that you find Nathan and bring him back _safely._ As for Nathan, if you’re listening to this somehow, keep your radio on, and hide. 

Tonight’s weather is for you.

_ [musical interlude] _

Wherever you are, whenever you are, whoever you are, whatever you are, whyever you are, if you’re listening to my voice right now....pretty sexy, huh? Subtler than Mister C.’s smooth-as-syrup basso, but just breathy and intimate enough to make you think, just for a second, that I’m in that darkened room with you, whispering goodnight. 

Goodnight, Night Vale. 

_ \- **rrrruummmbllee** -  _

_WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!_  

That would be Station Management.

_ Shit!  _ Did I do something wrong?

On the contrary, you did everything right for your first solo show! That’s their growl of approval! It’s understandable that you didn’t recognize it, it’s pretty rare. Do you know what day today is?

God damn it is it your birthday? ‘Cause I swear if you keep standing there looking at me with those expectant puppy dog eyes thinking I got you a present I’ll have to fall on my own sword in shame and dishonor. 

Oh dear, it’s not my birthday, but I’ll be sure to remind you when that’s coming up. Today is our anniversary!

Um.

The one-year anniversary of you joining my show!

Oh, gotcha. Cool. Do I get my own trophy? Is it bigger than Carlos’?

You don’t get a trophy, but you get something better: a promotion!

Oh sweet, really?

Any intern who stays with the show for a full year – and that may _seem_ like a short time but that’s like, 77 in intern years – and who proves capable – which you did tonight – can become a co-host of Night Vale Community Radio! Congratulations, Dave! You're the only one who's lasted this long as far back as our records go... 

Wow, thanks. What do I need to do, sign something in my blood?

No, we retired blood contracts for employees years ago. There’s just a quick, routine, semi-invasive surgery, which I can do right here in the station—

Whoa whoa whoa, surgery?

Yes, to implant the third eye. Well, we call it that, but it’s really just an enchanted biochip at the base of your brainstem that synchronizes your brainwaves with the station’s radio waves so you’ll know everything that’s going on in Night Vale during our broadcasts. Well, not _everything_ — there are shaded areas that even I can’t see, like the dog park, and StrexCorp operation centers, but—

Sorry, Mister C., but I’m not letting you put one of those things in me. My body is a temple. Besides, I’ve seen the kinda shit weird psychic technology can do to a person,  and I’m steering clear.

But...it’s highly unusual to refuse.

Yeah, well it’s highly unusual to be asked if I want a magical computer chip implanted in my brain. 

But you can’t be a true host without it. 

Then I guess I’ll just stay an intern, if that’s okay. 

I suppose it is... But you’ve done so much for us over the past year. You deserve _something_.

I was completely serious about the trophy.

Well I guess I could... Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll make you an archintern!

Is that even a thing?

It is now! If the Boy Scouts can expand their hierarchy, then I don’t see why community radio can’t do the same! And the position comes with a 15% pay raise. 

_ \- **grrrrrrrrrrrhssssss** -  _

HEY, THAT’S _HALF_ OF WHAT HE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN IF HE’D BECOME MY CO-HOST!

_ \- silence -  _

Wow dude, did you just win a pissing match with Station Management? 

** *gulp* ** I hope not. But just in case, we should leave. 

_- **grrrrrroooowwwlll** -_  

Now.


	16. (Part 15, Part 1): Regrets...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there is something wrong in this episode, and it's on purpose, I promise.

Listeners, I... I have some bad news. 

You all remember those subterranean tunnels beneath Mission Grove Park that intern Violet uncovered as her last earthly act in this life? Well they have been under quarantine for quite a while, so... I... I sent intern D-Dave to investigate yesterday, and... He didn’t come home last night. As a station intern I must assume... ***sniff*** I must assume that he will not be coming back. I would offer my– my condolences to his f-family, but... I don’t think that would make Carlos and me feel any better. 

At least I can play for you, dear listeners, the reporting that Dave gave his life for. There was a microphone in the watch that Carlos and I gave him for his birthday that transmits straight to the station, and Dave and I were testing it on this...assignment. Listeners, there may well be something terribly, terribly _wrong_ with your radios that itself portends a much greater and unspeakable evil, but when the audio feed cuts out...that is the end of the recording.

_- click -_

_ Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3.  _  
_ This is intern Dave from inside the quarantine. _  
_ Just slipped past the Secret Police. _  
_ I hope you’re gettin’ all of this, Mister C.  
_

_ Yeah, anyway. The park looks normal. Except for, y’know, the cameras in the trees, the patches of carnivorous flowers and the ancient stone circles making patterns in the grass that should be random but aren’t. But nothing’s  _ happening _. The only people I’ve seen were those SP guards._

_ Also, I took off my gas mask ‘cause that thing was degrading my cool faster than uranium 235. And seeing as I haven’t been killed by deadly neurotoxin yet, I’m gonna guess the quarantine’s a fake. _

_ Okay, I found the entrance to the tunnels. The hatch is still hanging open wider than Gamzee’s jaw after I rammed a fresh, steaming batch of sacrilegious common sense down his protein chute. Let’s hope this thing works underground. _

_...Yeah, a map would have been a good idea. Night Vale doesn’t even show up on Google Maps, so that’ll do me fuckall good, even if my phone had more than one pathetic bar flickering in and out like the last man standing after an Olympic-level drinking game before his brain finally says ‘fuck this consciousness shit’ and takes him out cold. ...And there it goes. There must be more tunnels down here than explosion/sloppy make-out combos in John’s entire movie collection... _ Oh no. _Fuck. I have to Nic Cage it. Go down each one of them in every possible combination in a bunch of simultaneous timelines. God damn it._

_ Okay, here goes... Huh. Only one of them goes through. The rest of them just spiral around in a mess that rivals the colossal clusterfuck that was time in SBURB. Tunnel number four it is then.    _

_ It’s dark as fuck down here. I’m almost tempted to take off the shades. Almost being the key word. If that ever happens I’ll willingly give up my anti-arrest and the Secret Police can book me for indecent exposure. Jesus Hussie Christ how long is this thing? I can’t even flash it ‘cause I might smack right into the wall at the next turn, and that would just be embarrassing. It definitely seems to be sloping down though... You know I’m not actually rambling right now, I’m using echolocation ‘cause I’m currently blind as a bat down here. Seriously, where’s a vampire when you need one? Sorry, rainbow drinker. Gotta be PC on the air... If this thing’s still transmitting at all. What a brilliant waste of prime Strider narration this little adventure would be if this watch wasn’t even— _

_\- click -_  

...And that’s it. The end of the recording. There has been nothing but silence on Dave’s channel since then. I don’t even know what happened! It seems those tunnels are another shaded area in my vision.  

Whatever Dave encountered down in those tunnels either cut him down silently mid-sentence or cut off the feed somehow before we could hear any indication of what happened to him. Perhaps the watch was broken as he raised his arm to fend off a sudden blow, his efforts to save his own life already...futile. And perhaps this was merciful. Because we would never hear the single scream that echoed through those tunnels, so far underground that on the surface it would only have been perceived as a sigh, if it was heard at all.  

Listeners, there are not many things that I regret about how I have lived my life to this point. I mean sure, I may _say_ I regret not saying hello to Old Woman Josie on Main Street last Wednesday because I was in a hurry to get to the flower shop before it closed, or accidentally releasing a breed of vicious, zombie-like ferrets into the local area after a misguided pet purchase, or not spending just one more week traveling in Europe before my job tied me down, with a lovely, loving bow, to Night Vale. 

But these kinds of things are just a part of life, and I can’t go through every day regretting half the things I did. It takes enough thought and energy just to plan how I would like to move forward to the next day without always looking back at where I’ve been. 

That said, there are a few things I really do regret. I regret waiting an entire year before finally asking Carlos out on a date. I regret not paying more attention to things when I was younger, so that now there are many things I do not remember. And...I regret sending Dave to investigate the tunnels beneath Mission Grove Park. 

Over the months I had built up the unarticulated conviction that Dave could come back from anything, and that really there was nothing in this little desert town that presented him with much of a threat. But though he was fast, and strong, and possessed godlike powers over the flow of time itself, he was still just an eighteen-year-old boy. And it was my job to protect him, as his employer, and...and as his parent. However carefully constructed an act he put up, Dave was not invincible—

_ \- static crackle -  _

_...transmitting... What the fuck...just happened?_  


	17. (Part 15, Part 2): ...Should Not Stop You...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention, I made a Night Valestuck video! Check it out on Youtube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JspKnr3SHM) or Tumblr (http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/76054489541). 
> 
> And thanks to Chippy for some of the structure of this arc!

Dave!  

_ Nghh....god damn...head hurts......can’t move.....oh...strapped to a fucking...gurney......looks like...evil scientists...s’rry Carlos...on the other side of th’ room......must’ve been...drugged...gas maybe....should’ve kept that gas mask on......can’t get a fix on time...it’s gone all...bendy...can’t do the timey thing or I might...fuck shit up....also th’place might be...timeless...and ‘m not talking about the...decor......I hope you’re getting this, M’ssr C...might need...a little...help...........where the fuck is my shirt? _

_ [distant] Hey, the kid’s awake. _

_ Who were you talking to just now? _

_ M’self...f’kface. _

_Hm. That dose of halothane might have been a little high._  

_My dosage calculations were perfect. Your dispersal system was contrived. It must have been the concentration that was too high._  

_ The hell...do you want...with me? _

_ You’ve been the victim of one of the most elaborate kidnappings in Night Vale history! Really, this thing’s been months in the planning. You see you first came onto our employer’s radar a few months ago with that volcano incident – actually that’s a lie, you were on their radar the minute you set foot in this desert, just like everyone else; that’s kind of their thing – but you first became  _ interesting _when you foiled that volcano device._ My _volcano device actually, but no hard feelings—_

_ Another overelaborate solution to a simple problem. The volcano should have been the natural product of a chemical reaction. I came close— _

_ You made lava bubble out of a beaker, I’d hardly call that a volcano. Anyway, I suppose you really _ first _got their attention when you nearly disintegrated that stubbornly incorruptible scientist—what was his name again?_

_Steve Carlsberg._  

_ No, not Carlsberg, but...Carlos! Yes, that was it. His ongoing research into your abilities has been ever so helpful by the way. Without his poorly encrypted files it would have cost us much more time and at least twice as many casualties to get where we are today. But I digress. After you put Carlos in the hospital you were put under closer observation for a threat/asset analysis. Of course, any threat can be turned into an asset with the right balance of force and finesse, but they have to give the analysts something to do I suppose. And your rather fantastic origin story did require some looking into. They couldn’t find any records of a game called SBURB, but then again, there wouldn’t be any, would there? Not if you really wiped it from existence. But apparently they found  _ something _, because now they pretty much accept your version of events, though excuse me if I’m still a bit skeptical. I mean, you were in love with this John kid for_ how _long before you said something to him?_  

_ Four score and twenty fuck yous.  _

_ Really, that’s still a tender topic? If you’ll allow me to give you some advice, you should move on. Sometimes people die, sometimes people are killed, and sometimes you kill people. That’s just life.  _

_ Jesus Christ even the cheery evil scientist who has me...strapped to a table in some shady bunker beneath the park...wants to give me fucking relationship advice. _

_ You’re in radio, kid. What did you expect? Anyway, that about brings us to the whole volcano debacle, which was an entirely unrelated project. You can’t be the center of  _ everything _, after all. The thinking was, and it was rather_ brilliant _thinking if I might add, that yes, the obsidian walls of the public dog park are supposed to be indestructible. But you know, obsidian is just cooled, hardened lava. So immersion in more lava should return it to its molten state. And it would have worked if not for you meddling...kid. Huh, it doesn’t sound as catchy when there’s just one of you, does it?_

_ Why did you want...to open the dog park?  _

_** *chuckles*** It’s cute you think I would tell you that. But that’s not part of the story. This is a story about you. And when you pulled that stopping time stunt, making the device a useless hunk of scrap metal, it showed you had...finesse. A huge bump in the asset department.  _

**_ *snickers* _ ** _You wanna bump this asset, Doctor, you gotta let me go first... I don’t go for bondage. _

_ Now that’s just immature. I hope that’s the halothane talking. Anyway, that day you also showed that you would continue to be a hindrance to our employer’s plans. (Oh and they know about your little alchemical arms dealings with Tamika Flynn and her pack of rabid children by the way. They’ll be dealing with that lot shortly.) So the next course of action seemed obvious: bring you in for study. At first we tried to go through the conventional channels — the Sheriff’s Secret Police, arrest, trial and such, you remember. But then some genius realized that we didn’t have any means of containing someone with your unique abilities. Of course you were just going along with the turn of events because you didn’t know what was really going on, but as soon as you found out you could easily have escaped from the Secret Police station to wreak incalculable havoc on our employer’s entire operation. So they had you placed under anti-arrest, to ensure that you wouldn’t get swept up in the law and law enforcement system again by accident and learn something you shouldn’t in the process. _

_ In other words...you guys pissed yourselves and let me go. _

_ That’s a pretty accurate summary of events.  _

_How about you go get us some coffee, Tabby?_  

 _It’s Tabitha. And how about you quit torturing the poor kid so we can get to the vivisection, Simeon?_  

_ Alright, alright, I’m almost done.  _

_ Thank god.  _

_ You’re always saying, Tabby, how people in our delicate line of work never get any appreciation. I would have thought you’d be more appreciative yourself of the opportunity to share with our beneficiary how much work we’ve put into his case.  _

_[tense] It’s. Tabitha. Tabby is a kind of cat fur. _

_ Yes, well, where was I?  _

_ You were about to let me go after...ramming a pen through your poor, abused windpipe. _

_ Ah, I remember. After the little snafu with the Secret Police, it didn’t take them long to remember the obvious: you’re an NVCR intern. That near-omniscient and yet spectacularly oblivious radio host would continue to send you to report on the latest town news, so there would be all sorts of opportunities to test out different strategies while barely arousing the slightest suspicion. You remember the dream mineshaft, the freezing crystals, the radioactive wolves, the dimensionally transient cube, I really could go on. All failed of course, until this one. The mysterious tunnels beneath Mission Grove Park.  _

_ These tunnels were here far before you arrived in Night Vale, owned by our employer, and it was a complete accident that that woman stumbled upon the entrance that day, but it gave me the idea for all of this. If the quarantine was kept up long enough, even Cecil would grow suspicious and send his intern to have a look see. The venue was perfect – nice and private, no one to hear you scream, etcetera. And the tunnels themselves inspired the other pieces of the plan: capture and containment. We had good data on your tactical abilities from the many previous scenarios, and your speed and reflexes precluded all but a near instantaneous take down. So I designed a rather ingenious snare. Wasn’t it clever, Tabby? _

_It’s Tabitha. You fuckwit._  

_ Well  _ I _thought it was pretty clever. I took a bit of a gamble in assuming that you couldn’t see in the dark, but with you being..._ vaguely _human, it seemed like a safe bet. So I rigged a section of the tunnel with highly pressurizing ventilation — rather large and ungainly equipment, but again, you couldn’t see it — that would release a burst of knockout gas so quickly and so concentrated that you’d be out like a light mid-stride. The trigger system was the real trick though. A black laser beam. And I don’t mean ultraviolet. I mean_ black _. I invented_ black light _, just for you. Completely invisible in the darkness, but as soon as you stepped across it, the gas was released, and you were ours. We just had to go and collect you and bring you here._

_You could've just...put a pressure switch...in the floor... Wouldn't've seen that either. _

_...The aftereffects of the halothane gas — you have Tabby to thank for that bit —will keep you disoriented and unable to concentrate for another thirty minutes or so, and then we’ll give you another dose. And trust me, you’ll want it at that point. Consciousness will quickly lose its appeal.  _

_ Already has.  _

_ Now, now, you haven’t heard the best part yet. This room. You can tell there’s something different about it, can’t you?  _ I _can’t, but certainly_ you _can._

_...Timeless. _

_ Yes! Exactly! I studied what you did to my volcano device, the miniature time field you put around it inside of which time was frozen, and I figured out how to expand it! Granted, my solution was a little inelegant – there are bits of the timer embedded into all four walls of this room, and the field stretches between them – but still pretty cool! Don’t you think? _

_... _

_ You think it's cool, right Tabby? Don’t you think it's cool, Tabby? Oh, we don’t need that bone saw yet, we start with the scalpel, Tabby. Tabby? T–AAAAAH! _

_\- thud -_

_ Sorry for that. Murder of a colleague is unprofessional.  _

_ Nah, it’s cool... All that blabbing though...and the guy never even...answered my question.  _

_ What do we want with you? Or rather, what does our employer want with you? Time travel is child’s play, David. _

_ Just Dave. _

_ Apologies. Dave. But controlling time itself... That’s divine. And our employer has a corner on that particular market.  _

_ Oh fuck. I was hoping...that wasn’t you guys. _

_ As I believe you said yourself, there is never much hope. Now, without further wasting of time, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate— _

_[muttering] Everyone with the time puns._

_ —we’re going to start the vivisection. As the name states, the point is to keep you alive so we can figure out...  ***small chuckle*** what makes you tick. So if at any point you feel that death is closer than its usual darkly beautiful presence looming always over your shoulder, just give me a heads up of some kind and I’ll give you a little breather. But you’ll have to think of something more creative than screaming, because there will be lots of that, and that’s just a sign we’re making progress.   
_

_\- door -_  

_ If you would hold off just a little longer, Tabitha. _

_ Y-yes, sir!  _

_ My my, another one? Did he call you Tabby? _

_ I...just don’t see what’s so difficult about my name, sir. _

_Of course not. Tabitha’s a lovely name. But do try to get along with the next one. There’s only so much collateral damage I can justify to keep a genius such as yourself on staff. I am trying to run a business, you know._  

_ Yes, sir.  _

_ Excellent. Now, Dave. On the off chance that you do not make it off of Tabitha’s table alive — and I have every confidence in her ability, but the Lord works in mysterious ways, and the existence of science really is such a grey area — I’d like to have a little chat. Ask you a few questions. Tabitha, if you would be so kind. _

_ Of course, sir. _

_\- door -_

_ Not that it makes much difference, I’m going to send her for re-education anyway, but it is nice to have some privacy. _

_ What...the hell...are you? _

_Oh, you_ are _perceptive. And quite right to ask. I know so much about you that I’d forgotten I needed an introduction. My name is Matthew Scratch, and I am the C.E.O. of StrexCorp Synernists Incorporated._  

Oh no. No no no. Listeners, I was so rapt in their conversation, and so enthralled by that man Simeon’s command of speech that I forgot this is all happening _right now!_ Intern Dave is still alive, and that means... That means there is _hope_. So now, Night Vale, if you value community radio and all that it has done for you, if you value intern Dave and all that _he_ has done for _us_ , or if you are just feeling fed up with a certain corporation monopolizing our town, then let me say this. It is a lovely day for a walk in the park. So get out and enjoy the weather. 


	18. (Part 15, Part 3): ...From Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have thought this was going to be the finale. It isn't. However, I feel I should give fair warning that I am starting to work up to the real finale. I've been planning it for a while, and...well, I can't really say much more than that, other than it seems like the way this thing should end. I'll do my teary goodbyes when the time comes, but in the meantime there will be a couple more fun, one-off episodes. Just...don't say I didn't warn you. 
> 
> Also, I've been going back and editing some of the previous episodes a bit (kind of taboo, I know, but I don't really care) because I can't always be clever on the spot like Dave. I haven't made any drastic changes, but the most significant editing is in "Intern Dana," where I think I've made Dave truer to his character. 
> 
> Thanks to vanishedSchism for plot help on this one!
> 
> Also, this happened:
>
>> Home is where the heart is. You’ll never guess where we hid it though.
>> 
>> — Night Vale podcast (@NightValeRadio) [February 15, 2014](https://twitter.com/NightValeRadio/statuses/434554278624395264)  
> 

Listeners... Listeners. I have never been more proud of Night Vale than I am on this day. Despite our differences – whether that be on the socioeconomic ladder or on the food chain – we came together as a community to fight for our way of life, and to defend one of our own. Intern Dave is currently resting in the break room with Carlos, sleeping off the drugs that were in his system, but he is very much alive and well, thanks to you, Night Vale... _Thank you_ , Night Vale. 

I need not relate these very recent events to most of you, as to most of you they were first-hand experience, but for the few of you for which this is not the case, and for posterity, I will play my part as the narrator and retell this latest chapter in Night Vale’s history. 

The first few of you to answer my call stepped out of doors, or slithered out of man holes, or dropped out of trees, cautiously. Blinking in the early evening light, you looked to your neighbors to see if they would do the same. And because of you, they would. 

Excitement and bloodlust spread like a virus, or a powerful idea. And really those two comparisons are redundant.  All of Night Vale took to the streets. Realtors bit and clawed their way out of their cervine hosts, clutching their miniature all-weather radios, and took up the very antlers of the felled fauna as weapons. Librarians, extremely vicious though normally reclusive, broke free of their bibliographic prison and loped out into the open air, many for the first time, their great talons clicking on the pavement and drool sliding off their long, coiling tongues. Even the angels took to the skies, and all whom their shadows fell upon simply vanished where they had stood. Because after all, angels do not exist, so if one’s shadow passes over you, you must not exist either. 

Tamika Flynn’s child guerrilla army came out in full force, their numbers far exceeding previous estimates, each armed with some exotic blade or automatic rifle bearing a pixelated flame or velociraptor or airplane or smiley face or other such decal that I think were...ironic? But mostly just confusing? Anyway, Tamika’s army, making excellent use of the buddy system, split into teams of two, each team organizing and taking charge of a regiment of citizens from the swelling masses that threatened to turn on themselves without effective leadership. All the while the City Council, who had barricaded themselves in a windowless, lightless and scienceless room, both cheered on and reprimanded the rebellion in a cautious mixture, effectively covering all their bases.  

All but one of the newly formed regiments began to lay siege to StrexCorp operation centers throughout Night Vale, from the volunteer center located next to the Sheriff’s Secret Police Station, with the bright yellow banner proclaiming: “Anyone can be a volunteer! We literally use randomized selection to choose our volunteers. They could be anyone.” to the PR department in the basement of the Pinkberry, though the Pinkberry itself was left, remarkably, unharmed. Anything marked with that sneering yellow “S” circumscribed by that tyrannical yellow triangle was either destroyed or reclaimed and returned to its original purpose. The White Sand Ice Cream Shop was one of the first local businesses to be returned to its owners, Lucy and Hannah Gutierrez, who expressed their joy by raising their makeshift weapons to the sky and howling, tears of gratitude mixing with the blood of battle on their cheeks.   

I am...sorry to say that my supervisor Daniel went missing during the break, though from the gears and springs scattered throughout the hallway, and the trail of thick, black oil that suspiciously disappears under Station Management’s door, I think I can guess what happened to him... Hopelessly outnumbered, all StrexCorp employees and officials were either killed or forced to flee in yellow helicopters, which were reportedly seen flying away to the southeast, in the direction of Desert Bluffs. Several unfortunate townspeople who happened to be wearing yellow today were also killed in the bloody uprising, but because they were probably Desert Bluffs loyalists anyway, we are okay with this.  

The final regiment, containing Carlos and myself and over a dozen other brave citizens, and led by Tamika Flynn herself, headed straight for Mission Grove Park. Even... ***shudder*** Even _Steve Carlsberg_ was there, and... _Ugh!_ Andwecouldn’thavedoneitwithouthim alright I said it. We would have easily gotten lost in that winding network of darkened tunnels beneath the park, but because _Steve_ pays _such meticulous attention to everything I say on my show_ , he remembered that Dave had said he’d taken the fourth tunnel. As the tunnels were actually numbered, finding our way to Dave was... Well. A walk in the park. 

We arrived at the room in which Dave was being held just in time to hear the slam of a metal hatch being closed, and when Tamika ran towards the source, she discovered a long exit shaft up to the surface. She did not make it a quarter of the way up the ladder before we heard the engine of a helicopter roar to life, and the receding thud of its rotor blades as it rose up and out into the sky. News of the insurgency taking place on the streets above us must have preceded our arrival. 

We were all a little...disappointed. Tamika, who immediately let out a string of curses and profanities that were far above her reading level, perhaps more than others. But the feeling did not last long, listeners. For there, shirtless and strapped to a steel operating table next to an impressive array of sharp surgical instruments and drugged half out of his mind, was intern Dave. And I have never been happier to see him. 

Unable to carry Dave up the ladder in the exit shaft, Carlos and I took the long way out, back through the tunnels the way we had come, and by the time we reached the surface the fighting had mostly subsided. A few straggling corporate employees were being hunted down in the streets, but for the most part, people were making their way home. The bodies that currently litter the streets, of course, will be gone by morning. They always are. 

_\- door hinges -_  

I hear...you were pretty quick to write me off, Mister C. 

He wanted to see you, Cecil. 

I know you have trouble...keeping your hands off me, Carlos, but you can let go of me now. I think...I have this whole walking thing down again. After all, Striders are the most graceful creatures on the pla—

_ \- CRASH -  _

I stand corrected. 

You mean 'stand' in the idiomatic sense, I presume. Need a hand?

Nah, I’m good. Comfy even. I might...just have to curl up on this floor and spend the night I’m so...damn comfortable. Anyone got a pillow?

I’m sorry for giving up hope, Dave. I suppose it was just habit. My interns tend not to...

Survive more than a week?

Stick around for very long. 

Yeah, I got that impression. But I’m an archintern now, and dying’s for n00bs. That was...with two zeros...for...irony...fuck it. 

I’ve been wondering, Dave. We got to you as fast as we could, but...you were still alone with the C.E.O. of StrexCorp for a good fifteen minutes. Could you tell the rest of the story? Or am I being insensitive too soon after a traumatic experience? Carlos tells me I do that when I get too involved in my reporting. He also tells me I get too involved in my reporting in general and that he sometimes feels he comes in second place to my microphone. But then _I_ tell _him_ that he gets too involved in his science too sometimes and that I often feel second to his test tubes and...beakers...and... He also tells me that I share too much personal detail when I get too involved in my reporting.

** *facepalm* **

Well back to where you started that informative report of...the on-the-ground conflict on the Cecil/Carlos love battlefield...that was actually what I wanted to talk to you, and to Night Vale about... My power meeting with C.E.O. Scratch.   

He didn’t use dream fugue torture on you, did he? StrexCorp had been taking in a few people a month for the procedure, and while that kind of thing was certainly their prerogative as a powerful corporation, I still think it showed very poor civic spirit. 

He didn’t torture me. We just talked, but... Torture might have been preferable. The things he said... There was a guy called Scratch in my game too. A slick, arrogant motherfucker and all-around bad news. His job...was to roll out the red carpet for The Hulk’s mob boss stepfather who could also tear up the whole of paradox space like it was tissue paper. Name of Lord English. Your Scratch and my Scratch aren’t...the same dude though. For one, mine had a cue ball for a head, and I might have been trippin’ like Sweet Bro in an Escher painting, but shit like that’s...pretty hard to overlook. Also this guy was...confused. He knew some stuff about SBURB, which made me really fucking nervous, but he...kept talking about it like it was something else. Something...sacred. 

He wanted to know what it was like to...be in the game’s presence. I said it fucking sucked, hence me wrecking its shit, and that really...pissed him off. He kept his poker face, but I can read that shit...like the morning’s paper, and he was mad as hell. And that’s when I saw time do this...flicker around him. It was fast, but...I saw his timeline, and it didn’t end. As far back as I could see, and we’re talking...geological time here, his timeline went farther. It’s almost like...he’s always been here...or somewhere close by.  

When he was asking me about the game he mentioned...something about founding StrexCorp to “make preparations.” And he said it...in this tone that was like, “this is end of days, apocalypse- and rapture-level shit.” All of that, along with me and my friends’ track record...with draconian mega-corporations, amounts to too many fucking coincidences...to be coincidences. 

Oh my... That certainly is troubling, from what I understood. 

Is there anything we can do? Should we be making our own preparations? 

Against what?

I don’t know.

Exactly. For now, we just gotta...take the little victories. Those fuckers are out of our town. We should have a fucking parade. 

Well, Night Vale, you heard intern Dave. We have broken free of the shackles of our oppressors, and this is a time for celebration. The Night Vale chapter of StrexCorp is officially closed. Just take a breath of that freshly liberated air. But don’t breathe too deeply. Remember, the City Council raised air taxes last week to gain more revenue to offer up as sacrifice to the almighty beams. After all, inflation affects even ancient light deities. 

With that, I wish you a very good night, Night Vale.

Forgetting something, dear?

** *nervous laughter*  ** Oh yes, I have a correction to make for the first half of the show. It was actually _Carlos_ who first asked _me_ out...and not the other way around. 

Also it’s not arms dealing if you’re giving the shit away.

...This has been corrections. Goodnight!


	19. Night Vale: Have a fucking parade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cecil really is terrible about letting his broadcasts get sidetracked. Also, can I have a headcanon about my own fic? Because I bet Kevin's ringtone would be 'Pocketful of Sunshine.'
> 
> Anyway, something kind of big is happening. This episode sets up an ongoing interlacing of my fic and Strextuck (one of the fics I've linked to below). The writer hasn't quite caught up to where I am yet, but you should follow Strexstuck as well, because the 2 story lines are only going to get more intertwined (example: if you want more StrexCorp, you know where to go)! And it will probably continue Night Valestuck after my fic ends.
> 
> On a related note, thanks to vanishedSchism for the "emergency" at Kevin's studio!

Listeners, I am delighted to announce that the City Council took Dave’s... _probably_ sarcastic suggestion yesterday to heart, and have planned a parade to celebrate our liberation from our erstwhile corporate tyrant! It will take place at midnight tonight, and while who – or what – exactly will be marching in the parade remains a mystery, I am sure it will be a blast! Just be sure to bring a wide range of weapons and survival gear so you’ll be well prepared for whatever surprise the City Council has in store for us. 

More details on the parade soon. But first, Carlos has urgently requested that I warn you all of an impending—

_\- door hinges -_

Uh, Mister C.? There’s someone you might want to meet.

You really shouldn’t interrupt the host in the middle of his sho— Oh! It’s you!

It’s... _you._ I’d almost convinced myself that day was a nightmare.

It _was_ all rather dreamlike, wasn’t it? There was a great sense of something... _profound_ , and yet all too fleeting. But if I had known you lived right here in Night Vale I would have made this little excursion sooner to say hello! I felt we shared a deep connection in that space-time vortex, despite not exchanging a word. I bet we have a lot in common. 

No shit. 

You shouldn’t swear. It’s poison that corrodes your soul from the inside. 

Heh. That was nothing. I can show you fuckin—

Why are you here?

I heard Night Vale was having a parade! We have parades in Desert Bluffs all the time, but I’ve never heard of a parade in Night Vale. I just couldn’t miss it! 

I should have known you were from _Desert Bluffs._  

It shows, doesn’t it? I’m just _so proud_ to be a citizen of my town. But I’m sure Night Vale is wonderful! From what I’ve seen so far, it has a quite a rustic charm. What is this parade for, anyway? Not that one needs a reason to celebrate the daily beauty of everyone and everything working together in perfect, productive harmony just as God designed, but from the mysterious news bulletin I received, it sounded like this was a special occasion.

The occasion’s that we kicked Strex _mmmph–_

Tonight is the rare alignment of Sirius and Antares that comes only once every four thousand years. And while we here in Night Vale usually don’t go for such showy, self-indulgent displays of grandeur as parades, when the stars align, it certainly seems worth celebrating. 

Oh, I just _knew_ I should have paid more attention in second grade astronomy. But the night sky in all its beauty just never quite compared to the glorious, blazing midday sun. 

It’s a matter of personal preference I suppose. And sophistication.

Okay do you two wanna stop hate-flirting for a minute and tell me what the fuck is going on?

_Language, please_ . My goodness, if you were _my_ intern I would have gagged you and locked you in the sensory deprivation chamber by now. But _you_ have so much temperance, dear host. I could tell when we met that you were a virtuous man, but _now_... Well, I think you must be my better half! Your voice is so rich and sonorous, your teeth are mercifully unsharpened, your eyes are the color of the desert sky at twilight, whereas mine... Mine are just...

Void.

Exactly! And I know—as one of God’s creatures, I _know—_ that I should not feel insecure about these things, for He made us all perfectly in His own image! And maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if I just had to live the rest of my life with sharp, serrated teeth that make it difficult to smile properly, but my _eyes_... If the eyes are the window to the soul, then what does my soul look like?

Dude, relax. You can still be a good person and have a smoldering gaze that makes small children run away and cry. Well actually I can’t prove you wrong on that one, but...I understand. 

Oh? ... _Oh._ But your eyes are lovely! Almost the exact color of fresh blood. I would kill for eyes like those. But out of respect for my fellow radio professional, I won’t. 

** *sigh* ** Okay, bringing this conversation back from dissolving into all of us talking about our feelings, because that keeps happening, someone has yet to explain to me what the...funnel cake is going on. You’re not Cecil.

Um, I don’t _think_ so. But I could be wrong. Maybe my name is Cecil and I’ve been mistaken thinking it was Kevin all this time. Wouldn’t that be neat?

Oh god.

Was that a sincere invocation of the Lord’s name? Because if it wasn’t, not even my professional courtesy and deep personal respect for your superior would keep me from ensuring that the sanctity of the one true God is upheld. 

I’m always sincere. 

Oh good. So who’s this Cecil?

That would be me. And I take it you’re Kevin.

That's me! It’s such a pleasure to run into you again.

I... ***sigh*** Likewise.

Wow, and such a firm handshake too! You really are a wonder, Cecil. Oh and speaking of wonders, I was wondering if you would show me where the parade is going to be. And maybe, if you’re not busy, and I assume you’re going to watch the parade yourself, we could stick together and you could impart some local knowledge. I’m afraid I know very little about Night Vale, but I was thinking I would write up the parade and the rest of my visit for my blog. I’d love to get a quote from you. Maybe I could encourage a few more Desert Bluffers to make the trip over to Night Vale! All after your broadcast of course... Oh my, your broadcast. I am so deeply, terribly sorry. I’ve interrupted your productivity, forced you to perform your duties to host a guest in lieu of your duties to host your show! I– I’ll just wait outside.

_\- door hinges -_

I think he has a crush on you.

Don’t be ridiculous, Dave. He’s obviously just starstruck.

Pfft.

***chuckles*** _[suddenly serious]_ He can’t go to the parade. StrexCorp is a Desert Bluffs company, and it’s very popular over there. I believe it’s even tied into their religion somehow. And tonight we’ll likely be burning the C.E.O. in effigy. 

Okay. Don’t let Kevin go to the parade. Should be easy enough.

Could you just...zap him back to Desert Bluffs?

Not my division. I do time, Mister C. That would be space.

Oh.

Here’s what _I_ can do: I can rewind his memory so he doesn’t remember having heard of the parade. But we’d still have to get him back to Desert Bluffs, and he’d have a pretty noticeable number of hours missing from his day. If we wanted to cover our tracks, I’d have to send him back in time to before he came here. But then however he heard about the parade would recur, and he’d be right back here. I could _really_ make time my bitch and start pulling at all the threads, rewriting events, making everything work out just the way we want it to, but I don’t want to do that unless I absolutely have to. I don’t like playing God. I’ve been _played_ by gods, and it fucking sucks. Bottom line, Kevin’s not important enough. 

Hm... Well there is no shortage of shadowy operations in Night Vale that offer relocation services, but they tend to demand...unusual payments. Plus that would give Kevin an awfully poor first impression of our town.

I got the impression you didn’t like him. You looked like you were about to strangle him with your microphone cord when he first walked in.

I don’t... Didn’t? No, _don’t_. That man is a vile creature who, by some twist of hellish symmetry, happens to wear a perversion of my face. He makes his home in a studio steeped in blood and strewn with viscera – a realized Hell on Earth, if we even were on Earth during that... _confusing_ sandstorm.

Oh, the doubles episode. Broadcast, whatever. “Kill your double,” right?

You actually did the research I assigned for this position? 

It was the best way to learn about this shit-crazy town we call home. So why didn’t you kill him? 

I... I was going to. I had my hands around his throat, but... Man or monster or somewhere in between, Kevin may have deserved to die, but I did not deserve to kill him. 

Where were you in SBURB? We could have really used a moral compass like yours to keep all our shit together. You’d’ve probably been a kick-ass Seer – not that TZ and Rose weren’t great when they tried, but...fuck. 

Thanks? Um...we still have to figure out what to do about Kevin. 

I could always go out and forget to lock the door to Station Management’s office. 

_Dave!_

_\- door hinges -_      

I am terribly sorry for the interruption once again, but my intern, Ka— Oh, there I go again filling your airspace with useless trivialities! Being away from Desert Bluffs for so long has really started to affect me! My intern just called me about an emergency back at the station and he sounded quite distressed – something to do with torrential amounts of water falling from the sky – so I’m afraid I must miss the parade and return to Desert Bluffs to try to remedy the situation, but I just couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. So! Goodbye, Cecil! Goodbye, intern! I’ll try to visit again soon as long as I, you, Night Vale, helicopters or any combination thereof do not cease to exist within the next few months. 

Oh, and Cecil. If I were you...I would smile more.

_\- door hinges -_

...Well that worked out well. 

Yes... It did.

Do you kind of miss him already?

I think I do.

Yeah.

_[moment of silence]_

By the way, where did you get all that BS about astronomical alignments?

Carlos was telling me about it last night.

Oh yeah, what was that urgent warning from Carlos gonna be about?

Hm. I can’t remember now. It must not have been that important.


	20. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want them to fight, it just happened! GFDI Dave.
> 
> Also, I drew intern Dave (crappily - you should know that by now) here: http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/79310045523 and Dave's watch here: http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/79233972879.  
> AND TUMBLR USER nymm-kirimoto DREW SOME WONDERFUL FAN ART HERE: http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/79814383919. 
> 
> Seriously, the quickest way to my heart is fan art. Other than a sharp implement that is.

So run. Run fast. And do _not_ , under any circumstances, look back. Doing so will only make you realize how futile running really is. 

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Endless asphalt stretches out before you, branching into roads. Some lead into infinite circles, or Möbius loops, inescapable. Some double back or veer away into regret thick with mistakes and missed opportunities, and ultimately, complete surrender. A select few lead upwards into the unseen, and therefore, unknown. Many lead downwards, and as these are the paths of least resistance, you find yourself traveling down one such road before you even know it. You do not remember choosing this path, but it had been so easy, that perhaps you had never made the decision in the first place. Perhaps this was simply meant to be. It is, after all, so easy. 

You continue your descent. The air around you is warm at first, welcoming. But you do not reach a place of flames, contrary to popular opinion. The warmth fades after a time, and soon afterwards it gets very, very cold. So cold that you cease to feel anything, including the temperature, emotions, and your own body. And because you cannot feel anything, and because the human consciousness is no more than the storage and processing of sensory input, you begin to doubt yourself. You begin to doubt _yourself._  

You remember things, but surely the memories do not belong to you. It must have been someone else who felt passion when he shared a kiss with his wife, who felt joy when he spoke his child’s name for the first time, who felt fear when that child was nearly taken from him by sickness. You do not feel fear now. You face the dark, cold maw of nothingness, and you are not afraid. You are not anything, now. Your consciousness faded like the warmth. 

Chevy. Find new roads.

_– Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars –_

Hello, Carlos?  

 _Sorry to disappoint. Something ate my phone a couple days ago, so Carlos let me borrow his._   

Oh. You’re working a double shift with me and Carlos again I take it.

_ Yeah, speaking of, I actually called to talk to Present Dave. Again, phone, eaten, neither of us has one. Can you put him on?_

Alright, but make it quick. 

Sup.

_ Okay without thinking too hard, where did we leave the bottle of strychnine in Carlos’ lab yesterday?_

Uh, next to the carnivorous fish tank?

_ Already checked there._

In the cabinet above the chemical hood? Or maybe in the fridge...

_ Three strikes, man. Why can’t you remember where you put the bottle of literally the fifth deadliest chemical known to man? This shit is a day more recent for you._ 

I don’t fucking know. Just go back in time or something. You’re intelligent and resourceful, figure it out. 

_ Jesus Christ why do I always have to clean up your messes? _ 

Just think about that question for a second. You talk to Past Dave yet?

_ Yeah, we put it in our lab coat pocket._

Ha. Ironic genius.

_ I know right. Later, bro._

_\- beep -_

Okay, I can usually follow those exchanges, but how exactly are pockets ironic? 

I never put shit in my pockets. That’s what a fetch modus is for.  

That’s the thing that lets you materialize objects out of thin air, right?

Pretty much. I keep forgetting that you weirdos here in Night Vale don’t have them. Basically a fetch modus turns pockets into a fashion statement. Kind of like what you did with my shades.

I thought you wore them to conceal your unusual eye color. 

Yeah. And remember what you broadcast to the entire town the day I got here? “A boy with red eyes and white hair walked into town today,” bluh bluh etcetera.  

Oh yes. Sorry about that.

Don’t worry about it. No one here cares anyway. Only like half the population is even human.

53.4 percent, according to the latest polls. 

Yeah. So I guess I just wear them for sentimental reasons now. Also ‘cause no self-respecting Strider is ever seen without his shades. It’d be like the Queen walking out of Buckingham Palace in lingerie. Anyway, I guess it’s my turn now, right?

Take it away. 

The Sheriff’s Secret Police have revoked their arrest warrant for the man in the tan jacket, for one because it was idiotic to issue an arrest warrant for a man who fails all physical description, resulting in the arrest of any guy who happened to be wearing a jacket that looked vaguely in the tan family on any given day. Also because the fact that the order actually came from StrexCorp was as poorly covered up as the aforementioned Queen. Our departed friends at Strex were obviously trying to cover their asses after the thing with the volcano that suddenly became slightly more relevant. 

The guy still seems suspicious in about 10,007 ways, but maybe in a good way? Like, he’s just trying to protect Night Vale too? Anyway, that’s about as long as I can drag out that one-line story for. Unless I start rapping, but I get that that’s not everyone’s thing. Although old woman Josie thinks I’m the goddamn Second Coming, got the angels humming, ‘cause my rhymes are divine, my beats launch heavenly fleets— Yeah, anyway. Back to you, Mister C.

Listeners, there is something wrong with the sky. It is just a little less blue than it is supposed to be. By such a small degree that it is nearly imperceptible unless you stare _really_ hard, but trust me, listeners, when I say that whatever being or force more powerful than we that is responsible for coloring the sky has begun to slack on the job.  

It’s actually a light refraction thing that makes the sky blue, Mister C. Ask Carlos about it, he’ll give you the full science spiel. 

Hm. I’m almost certain I learned in third grade that the sky is merely a canvas for the expressive whim of a nebulous higher power, but if Carlos has a scientific explanation then as a good reporter and informed citizen I should understand all of the popular opinions. 

_– Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the –_

Carlos! I have question for you—

_ Still not Carlos. The scientist has his hands full at the moment— some delicate experiment that “needs constant observation and frequent adjustments,” but he wanted me to update you on the sky situation. He’s got it monitored, and the sky is definitely getting less blue, but the rate at which the color’s changing is decreasing, so it might plateau before we have to worry about it. _

Oh, well that’s good. 

_ Also he wanted to make sure Present Dave reminded you about the flesh-eating bees Carlos found out at the edge of town. Did he?_

Shit. 

**_ *sigh* _ ** _ Could you please put Dave on the phone for a minute, Mister C.?_

Alright...

Yeah, I’m here. 

_ You know, I knew you’d forgotten, because I’m from the fucking future, and somehow I’m still disappointed in you. For some stupid reason I thought we could change._ 

Relax, dude. This is only like...the third time this has happened.  

_ You know I’m not just talking about one scenario. We forget dangerous shit, misplace toxic shit, we let ourselves get possessed by a fucking computer virus and get captured by that ass clown Simeon— Why are you such a fucking space case, Dave?_

You know—

_ Yeah, I know why. You’re distracted because you’re thinking about fucking John Egbert all the fucking time and that came out wrong. _

You’re right. It did. I’ll talk to you after the show. Or you can swan off  back to your own timeline, whatever the fuck suits your fancy you self-righteous asshole. 

_ Dave, wait. I’m just trying to help us straighten our shit out, please don’t hang—_

_\- beep -_

God damn it why does all this shit keep happening on the air? Future Dave just rubbed my fucking face in it– I am literally doing this to myself. That’s it. I’ll just have to become a recluse, a hermit. I’ll pack my bags tonight and move into the abandoned missile silo outside of town, and Old Woman Josie will bring me sandwiches, and maybe a batch of cookies if I look particularly pathetic—

Now that’s a little melodramatic.

Ha! Dave Strider, melodramatic. I don’t even know if that’s ironic anymore. 

Well I think if you just tried a little harder to—

I am fucking trying. But not everyone can be as perfect as perfect fucking Carlos. 

_– Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, Let me see what spring is like –_

You gonna get that?

_– On Jupiter and Mars –_

Um, I don’t think it would be wise for you to continue talking to yourself right now, Dave. You seem pretty upset. 

_ Actually it’s me._

Oh, Carlos! Hello.

_I just wanted to let you and Night Vale know that my experiment was successful, and it looks like the patches of shadow that have been appearing around town in broad daylight without a source to cast them don’t present a threat after all._  

What good news. Now all our listeners can breathe a sigh of relief and stop counting the shadows.

_ I uh, also called to see if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight. We could leave the house to Dave for a bit, so he can sort out some unresolved personal issues in private, if he wants to that is. I know this version of him does._

That sounds perfect. Or um, very nice.  

_Dave?_  

Yeah, thanks Carlos. This Dave does too. I hate it when we fight. I can’t insult him without insulting myself. Although making up is almost as bad. The amount of ego-stroking is fucking NSFW. 

_ Well I think that sounds like an improvement. You could use some more self-confidence, Dave. You’re doing just fine under some very extraordinary circumstances. _

I’ll try to remember that. You know you really do seem perfect sometimes. 

_ Nobody’s perfect, Dave. _

I know. It’s just a question of by how far you miss the mark. 


	21. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the finale! Many thanks to vanishedSchism, my Karkat coach/editor/writer, because I couldn't write Karkat if his life depended on it through some huge, universe-unraveling temporal event. (Too soon?)
> 
> I've changed the narrative style a bit (i.e. there's narration) in part because it was getting a bit ridiculous — one to keep coming up with excuses for things to be recorded, and two to keep finding excuses for the characters to declare everything aloud — and in part to make for smoother transition into vanishedSchism's Strexstuck fic, which will run parallel to/intertwine with mine and likely continue the Night Valestuck 'verse after my fic ends in the near future.

Listeners, there is...nothing happening in Night Vale.

Cecil sat back in his chair and let out a quiet breath. It wasn’t even as if _nothing_ was happening in the absolute sense. That at least would have been interesting. But instead, there was simply nothing of note going on. Not only was the lack of events concerning, it gave him very little to work with. He was seriously considering handing the microphone over to Dave and just letting him ad lib. Or even rap.

Oh Dave, could you come in here for a minute?

The door to the studio slammed open as a short teenage boy with grey skin, wild black hair and horns that looked suspiciously like two pieces of oversized candy corn burst in. 

WHAT THE HELL, FUCKER?

AAAAAAH!

Cecil would have liked for the record to show that he had only _nearly_ fallen out of his chair, but that would have been _slightly_ less than the truth. 

Who the fuck are you? No, I don’t care. Where’s the white-haired kid with the douche glasses? The one that talks in an irritating monotone and yet defies all natural laws in order to drawl at the same time.

Right here.

Night Vale has really outdone itself this time, Dave thought. He stood in the doorway a few feet behind the newcomer who looked terrifyingly like Karkat Vantas. Except it couldn’t be that his friend was standing in the studio right in front of him. His friend who he had personally _wiped from existence_. 

Something twisted in his guts and his hands curled into fists. 

Whatever the fuck you are, you made a mistake if you thought wearing my dead friend’s face would protect you. A fucking fatal mistake. 

Dave flashstepped and had the thing pinned to the carpet before it knew what had hit it. It thrashed and tried to bite him, but he un-captchalogued his sword, and when he held it across the thing’s throat it stilled. 

You’re going to kill me twice then? Just fucking great, yes, that’s clearly what I was trying to accomplish here. I must have a death wish. Or no, wait, maybe I’m doing it for the irony. 

You’re not Karkat. 

ARE YOU SUFFERING FROM CRANIAL CONTUSIONS YOU BLITHERING BULGELICKER? OF COURSE IT’S ME, NOW GET THE FUCK OFF!

Holy shit, Karkat?

Dave’s grip slackened and Karkat shoved him violently off and stood up. Karkat loomed over him, actually looking somewhat menacing from that angle, and Dave just sat there stupidly, not knowing what to think or do or say. Karkat had no such problems.

WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO OUR SESSION YOU RAGING, CRETINOUS SON OF A FESTERING NOOK? BECAUSE IT LOOKED LIKE YOU FUCKING COLLAPSED IT WITH APOCALYPTIC TIME SHIT AND COMMITTED FUCKING MASS MURDER!

...It wasn’t just our session.

WHAT?

I shredded the whole fucking game, with Jade’s help.

Karkat’s voice became a deadly calm, like the calm before the proverbial shitstorm.

What the fuck did you do to Harley?

Dave usually avoided clichés like literally anything but the plague, but there was _fire_ in Karkat’s eyes. He didn’t know how else to describe it. He had never been more grateful for his shades.

I told her it was the only way to beat Lord English before he fucking fried everyone. And the only way to make sure he could never bust out of SBURB. If it makes any difference, I really believed that crap. 

Karkat didn’t even speak. He just glared at Dave, silently demanding an explanation. Things must have been really bad if Katkat had stopped yelling.

That was where all the timelines were heading. After watching you and everyone else still standing get incinerated once, I was terrified, but after watching dozens of times, I was just fucking...bloodthirsty. So I didn’t realize how easily I could have just rewritten English’s timeline – in fucking iambic pentameter if I’d wanted – or even unwritten it. Fuck, anything else, really.

So this is all a direct result of you being too much of a yellow-bellied cluckbeast to test out your god tier powers earlier? 

...Yeah. I can make time do pretty much anything, and that’s what I did with it.

Karkat had heard Dave’s smug voice on the radio the previous day through some fluke of telecommunications when a few seconds of a broadcast from Night Vale had cut over their own. Hearing his friend’s voice had brought everything that had happened that day crashing back like a ton of hive-building blocks. The flashing red light the color of his mutant blood, and the thickening darkness in between flashes. That horrible ticking noise, and that _look_ on Dave’s face. Like he’d had blinders on that fixed his gaze solely on the hulking green skull monster that was tearing its way through paradox space to where they had all gathered. And far from his usually impassive expression, Dave’s face had been contorted in sheer fury – like he’d wanted to rip _everything_ to shreds and burn the pieces. Even Jade, who had stood beside Dave, holding his hand, tears streaming down her cheeks, had looked terrified of him.

That Dave was a far cry from the bewildered, ashamed, and worst of all, just the slightest bit _hopeful_ kid currently splayed at his feet. But Karkat had come to Night Vale with singular intent: to beat the shit out of Dave motherfucking Strider, and so that is just what he did.

THIS IS THE REASON YOU WEREN’T A LEADER, STRIDER! YOU’RE FUCKING VOLATILE! ON TOP OF THAT, YOUR CLASSPECT IS TOO FUCKING POWERFUL! SO GET THIS INTO YOUR ROTTEN THINK PAN, YOU ABHORRENT, SLIMY NOOKWHIFFER. YOU SHOULD HAVE FUCKING TALKED TO US ABOUT YOUR HOMICIDAL URGES BEFORE YOU FLIPPED OFF THE HANDLE AND FUCKING IMPLODED PARADOX SPACE. THAT’S WHAT MOIRAILS ARE FOR! DID YOU LEARN NOTHING FROM THE _FIRST_ GENOCIDAL ENTITLED ASSHOLE WE HAD TO DEAL WITH?

Karkat punctuated his words with the infliction of bodily harm, lifting Dave by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the floor as his fist connected with Dave’s face. Karkat even threw in a few kicks to the ribs for good measure. 

He only stopped when his breath was coming in ragged pants, and Dave had coughed up a fair amount of blood onto the carpet, much to the dismay of the man who, now that Karkat allowed himself to focus on things other than Dave Strider, he realized looked almost exactly like Kevin. That couldn’t be good. And where was his boss, anyway? Karkat hadn’t had a clue how to get to Night Vale, and Kevin had been wanting to visit again, so he’d taken Karkat in the station helicopter. Last time he’d checked, Kevin had been right behind him.

Are you ***cough* *cough*** done? 

For once, Dave’s voice held no trace of sarcasm or smug satisfaction. He looked up at Karkat with eyes that barely concealed a mass of emotions that had been building inside him for a long time, and that Karkat had merely dislodged. When the fuck had he taken off his shades?, Karkat wondered. Even after all this time, he had never seen Dave without his shades on, but that color red couldn’t be normal, even for human eyes, could it?

Yes I'm fucking done.

Okay.

Dave had, in fact, pulled a minor time-related stunt and paused his friend/assailant just once in his tirade to remove his shades and set them on Cecil’s desk, and to tell Cecil not to intervene. What Dave had not done was a single thing to stop Karkat from beating him to a bloody pulp. 

Now he stood, shakily, and picked up his shades from the desk, replacing them over his eyes. 

Karkat eyed him suspiciously.

What the fuck is so important about those damned shades that you had the audacity to pull more time fuckery right in front of me after everything we just discussed?

John gave them to me.

This would be the same John who you murdered in cold blood along with the rest of your so-called friends? Because it sure looked to me like you didn’t give a damn about him the last time I saw you.

Dave could feel a warm liquid pricking at the corners of his eyes that definitely wasn’t blood.

I’m reminded of him with every fucking breath! I did an _awful_ thing, Karkat, and sorry just sounds like a sick joke, but you can’t say I didn’t care! I didn’t want to survive what I did!

THEN WHY THE NOOKCHAFING FUCK ARE YOU STILL HERE?

...I don’t know. 

There it was again – that _hope_ that flickered briefly across Dave’s face. Karkat knew what was coming, and he dreaded it. He had quickly lost his desire to hurt Dave. He didn’t want to do it anymore.

Why are you here, Karkat? How did you survive? 

The underlying question was, of course, Did anyone else survive?

I don’t know either, Dave. Everything went to hell, and then I woke up bound and gagged on the floor of Desert Bluffs Community Radio with Mr. Sunshine Sadist. How we both happened to end up as community radio interns, I have no fucking idea. 

You’re Kevin’s intern?

Dave got a hit of that same, nauseous feeling he’d had during his talk with C.E.O. Scratch. Too many coincidences. 

Of course, Kevin took that moment to walk into the studio.

My, I could have sworn the station was on the ground floor the last time I was here.

His black eyes scanned the room, from where his intern stood gaping at something Cecil’s intern – the same one he had met when he was last here a few weeks ago – must have just said, to Cecil sitting behind his desk watching the two with a grave expression, and finally to rest on the sizeable pool of blood on the carpet.

Hello, Cecil! Hello Cecil’s blood-eyed intern! Are you two redecorating?

Cecil was surprised to find that he was actually happy to see Kevin again this time. Although he still bristled at Kevin’s idea of “decoration.”

Hello, Kevin. I’m afraid our interns were just having an argument. I think it’s best to let them finish. 

LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. YOU ALL HAVE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR _HOW_ LONG, AND NO ONE F— AND NO ONE TOLD ME?

Dave chuckled despite himself.

So Kevin’s got you whipped too, huh? 

SAVE IT, STRIDER. HOW LONG?

Well I’ve been here for over a year now, but I only met Kevin when he came to visit three weeks ago.

A year is about half a sweep, right?

Think so.

And I’ve been in Desert Bluffs for about six perigees, which are for all intents and purposes the same as Earth months.

Sounds right.

SO I HAVE BEEN STUCK IN DESERT BLUFFS FOR HALF A YEAR AND YOU WERE HERE IN NIGHT VALE THE WHOLE GOGDAMNED TIME?

_ Karkat... _

RELAX, KEVIN, I SAID GOG, NOT GOD.

Oh, alright, I suppose that’s fine then... So you two know each other? 

UNFORTUNATELY.

Well then, we should have come here sooner!

OH REALLY? YOU FUCKING THINK SO?

_Karkat!_  

Kevin’s eyes grew darker, if such a thing were possible, and his smile suddenly looked more like he was baring his unnaturally sharp teeth. Karkat froze.

But at that moment Cecil let out a quiet whimper, and all eyes fell on him where he now stood by the door, and then the small slip of paper he held in his trembling hands.

Cecil’s voice shook as he read it:

“Station Management summons Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas to their office. Immediately.”

Oh, fuck.


	22. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to vanishedSchism once again for editing/writing Karkat! More thank you's at the end because they're spoiler-y.

Dave and Karkat walked down the hall to Station Management’s office in tense silence, keeping nearly the hall’s width between them. Karkat couldn’t see what could possibly be so bad about Station Management – Kevin seemed to have a pretty good relationship with them back at DBCR – but he’d be damned if he was about to break the silence to ask. For all he knew, this was another one of Dave’s stupid ironic games, and he was not going to give Dave the satisfaction of winning. 

If Dave wasn’t the smooth motherfucker that he was, he’d be trembling so hard he’d drill a hole in the floor. Even Cecil was terrified of Station Management, and this was the guy who would walk into a room full of chimeric velociraptor-sharks and comment on how well-polished their teeth were. It was only as they neared the door at the end of the  _very_ long hallway (Dave was certain it had not been this long before, because he was certain that _the building itself_ was not this long), that he became aware of Karkat’s presence again. He glanced over at his friend without turning his head or slowing his pace. 

I’m really glad to see you.

There he goes again with the actually saying what he means thing, Karkat thought, exasperated. At least, it _seemed_ like Dave had meant it, but now he had his infuriating trademark pokerface on again, and Karkat couldn’t read it. 

He _wanted_ to believe that Dave wasn’t a murderous, maniacal bastard – that the person he had spent countless endless, lonely nights with (not like that you perverted nookstain – there _are_ no days in space) on a meteor/laboratory/tomb hurtling through inter-dimensional space actually _was_ glad to see him again. And as he thought about it, he realized he really did believe that. He knew Dave – three years of holographic walkie talkie exploration, interventions, clown hunting, and even (on one particularly bad night) building the western expansion of Can Town together – couldn’t have been an act. Dave must have been pushed to extremes to do what he did, and Karkat could imagine, he _supposed_ , how someone who could see the events to come in all possible timelines could get a false sense of inevitability and write his friends off as doomed before ever trying to save them. He didn’t forgive him for it of course, but he could understand. 

I know evil seedflaphumping grubfisted bilgesacks, Dave. You’re just a _dumb_ seedflaphumping grubfisted bilgesack. 

Dave stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t expected to get a response from Karkat, and especially not a kind one. Relatively speaking. 

Oh, quit acting like I just got down on one knee and asked you to human-marry me. Or do you want me to clock you again?

Dave raised his eyebrows.

Was that a time pun?

NO. FUCK YOU.

Maybe on our wedding night, Vantas.

Before Karkat could respond, Dave had started moving again, forcing Karkat to run to catch up to him (fuck that fucker and his fucking long legs). And then nearly overshoot the door when Dave stopped again suddenly in front of it. 

GOD DAMN IT STRIDER, ARE YOU _TRYING_ TO GIVE ME WHIPLASH?

Dave had his hand on the doorknob and the key in the lock, but he made no move to open the door. Karkat finally broke down.

WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK IS SO INTIMIDATING ABOUT YOUR STATION MANAGEMENT? YOU LITERALLY BLEW YOURSELF UP ONCE. GROW SOME GENETIC MATERIAL SACS AND GET OVER YOURSELF. AND ALSO OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR.

Dave would have facepalmed if his hands weren’t white-knuckling the doorknob and key. Whatever Station Management was, Karkat had just announced their arrival to them with the equivalent of a 21-gun salute. 

Something stirred behind the frosted glass – large, shadowy tendrils wound through the air, and a low rumble bled into the hallway. Dave had experienced this before – as an intern he had often played courier between Cecil and Station Management – but now that he knew he actually had to go inside the office, it gave him chills like it never had before. 

He felt the key begin to turn on its own and he leapt back, probably breaking several Olympic records for speed and altitude. A second later, the door swung open. 

They walked cautiously into a room filled with shadows, and the shadows were moving. Even Karkat, who _wasn’t_ wearing a pair of sunglasses in the dark, couldn’t see the walls through the darkness, but his footsteps echoed as if he was in a room the size of a cathedral. Dave’s footsteps, as always, were unsettlingly silent. 

Dave noticed that Karkat was now very close to him in the darkness, though he wasn’t sure which of them had been the one to close the distance.

In front of them, a distance away that was oddly indeterminate, was the concentration of the shadows. It took the vague form of some enormous, tentacled deep sea creature. At its center was a single purple eye thats diameter was greater than the length of Cecil’s studio, and that shone, pearly and reflective, like the moon. 

The door, as doors in these kinds of situations are wont to do, closed behind them.

Oh. I get it now.

The creature, Station Management, spoke in a low, airy, clicking voice that reverberated inside their heads without ever passing through the air. Telepathy.

** Knight of Time and Knight of Blood, assumed and designated leaders of your respective sessions. Do you know why we have called you here? **

Dave felt physically sick. He had been right, and for once he wished he hadn’t. Everything was connected. 

Do you mean here to this room, or here to this desert?

** Both are to the same purpose, set apart only by a minuscule amount of time. But we did not call you to this desert. That was an automatic construct.  **

WAIT, A _GAME_ CONSTRUCT? BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE, RIGHT STRIDER? BECAUSE OTHERWISE THAT WOULD MEAN THAT YOU DESTROYED LITERALLY EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE EXCEPT THE ONE THING THAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY TRYING TO DESTROY.

** The game’s primary directive is its own survival and propagation. It does not to allow its players more power than it possesses itself. You erased all of the game data, young hero of time, but the game had precautions in place for such a scenario. You are now within the game’s last line of defense: a failsafe session. A back-up of the entire game in compressed form within a single desert on a single planet. **

WHY DOES THE GAME’S BACK-UP LOOK LIKE _HIS_ PLANET THEN?

** The session’s planet is determined by the leader of the party that necessitates it, under the theory that a familiar environment to which that leader has loyalty is more conducive to the ultimate purpose. It is unusual that multiple leaders, from multiple planets, should come to occupy the same session, but as the failsafe session requires two players, the second place was slotted for the leader of the session that spawned the problem leader’s session. Had the anomaly of multiple parties within a single session not occurred, the second place would have been filled by the next highest ranking player from the problem session, the Heir of Breath, whose position the Knight of Time usurped in his final act.**

So John would have been with me here.

There was an odd tone in Dave’s voice that Karkat didn’t like. He knew Dave and John had been good friends, but was he really such a disappointment compared to that buck-toothed, “sorry Karkat, I’m not a homosexual” derp? He might confront Dave about it later. Or he might decide he didn’t care. That would, he supposed, depend on Dave. For now, they still had to deal with the giant managerial horrorterror-like thing in front of them.

Do we even have to ask what the “ultimate purpose” is?

** Your intuition is correct, young hero of blood. The ultimate purpose of the failsafe session is a complete reinstatement of the game. A reboot. **

Is that what C.E.O. Scratch was making “preparations” for?

** Yes. Both StrexCorp and its C.E.O., though he does not know it, are constructs of this session. **

WAIT WHAT—? 

And what is everyone else?

** Glitches, ghost data, constructs, composites and various other elements. Night Vale and Desert Bluffs themselves contain the templates for Derse and Prospit respectively within their coding.  **

What is Cecil?

** Cecil Palmer is also a construct of this session. Or rather, the Voice of Night Vale is, and he became a construct when he assumed that title.  **

Is that why he doesn’t remember his past?

** The transition is never smooth. **

And Carlos? What is he?

** A glitch. **

...And I guess you're the denizen.

** We are. And in that function, we are here only to offer you  ** **The Choice** **.**

Why did I get the feeling that was underlined?

** The Choice** ** is this: we will show you either how you may restart the game, or how you may destroy it completely. If you choose to restart the game, all of the game data will be reconstructed, including your friends, and your enemies, and the game will entwine itself once more within the fabric of all paradox space. If you choose to destroy the game, this session too will be destroyed, along with all of its occupants, and paradox space will stagnate without its mechanism for self-replication. You must both agree on your choice. **

That’s not even a choice. We’re restarting the game.

Dave, wait. Just think about it for a second.

There’s nothing to think about, Vantas. 

THE GAME IS EVIL. DON’T YOU REMEMBER WHAT IT DID TO US? TO _YOU?_  

Of course I remember! But now I can actually do something about it. I can finally fix things. Besides, I’m not killing Cecil and Carlos. 

MAYBE YOU CAN’T SEE CLEARLY WITH THOSE HOOFBEAST SHIT SHADES YOU ALWAYS WEAR, BUT THAT IS EXACTLY HOW THE GAME WANTED YOU TO FEEL. IT WANTED YOU TO FORM PERSONAL CONNECTIONS HERE FROM THE START! BUT THEY AREN’T REAL, DAVE. NOTHING HERE IS! THIS ISN’T EVEN YOUR REAL HOME PLANET! AND IT’S NOT LIKE WE’LL REALLY BE _KILLING_ ANYONE. THEY’LL ALL JUST...STOP EXISTING.

That’s exactly what I told myself when I killed you!

Karkat fell, for the second time that evening, uncharacteristically silent. 

Dave could still taste the blood between his teeth from their earlier “argument,” as Cecil had so politicly put it, and he licked it off before speaking again.

It doesn’t make it any better. Trust me Karkat, I’ve had to live with that choice for a year. It was the wrong one.

Karkat remained silent, almost disturbingly so. Finally, just as Dave had begun to consider poking him to make sure he hadn’t died of indecision, he spoke. The anger – but also the surety – were completely gone from his voice.

...Alright, Strider. I trust you. I guess. Let’s save our friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, HUGE thank you to BadWolfBelle, who came up with the failsafe session idea! And another big thanks to Doctor Bertmin (helloyessadness) for the Station Management as denizen idea!


	23. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, I'm still chugging along. I promise I will finish soon. (This part's a little uneventful, but there are several more still to come.)
> 
> Also, Kevin is the biggest sadomasochistic dork and I love him.

Dave and Karkat returned to the studio with a new sense of purpose, each allowing himself to hope, just a little, for the first time in a long time. 

Karkat wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He had been coping for six months, and he had been doing it well. Now there was a chance he and Dave could resurrect the dead – that he could see Sollux and Terezi and Kanaya and god damn it he might even be happy to see John again – and that chance, that hope, made their present absence all the more painful. This had to work.

Dave thought the whole thing seemed too easy. After all that he'd done, and all that he'd put himself through for what he'd done, to be able to just _restart_ , like it never even happened... It was the best thing he could have hoped for, and the most terrifying. As he thought that, he realized he could say the same about seeing John again too.

The "On the Air" sign was lit up above the studio door, but Dave, to Karkat's horror, swung open the door without pause and strode inside. Karkat followed, cautiously.

Cecil was in the middle of interviewing Kevin when the interns returned, because he really didn't have anything better to do. He had been preoccupied during the interview, worrying for Dave's safety, but he had also been surprised to find himself enjoying talking to Kevin about their two beloved home towns. Desert Bluffs actually had a few redeeming features, including a lovely annual city fair and a meditation park where one could achieve mental and physical transcendence by staring up into the sun for six consecutive hours. As long as Cecil avoided delicate topics like StrexCorp, God, viscera and football, which he did – _avidly_ – he found the conversation quite pleasant. 

He was in the middle of asking Kevin about Desert Bluffs mayor _Pablo Mitchell_ when the sound of door hinges drew his attention to the studio door. Dave stood just inside the room while his loud little friend hovered behind him in the doorway. Kevin looked mortified. 

Cecil smiled.

You survived your meeting with Station Management!

Aren't you going to discipline your intern for entering the studio during a broadcast??

Oh, I've certainly _tried_ to impress upon him the importance of uninterrupted broadcasts, but it's like herding spider wolves.

Dave gave him a look (Cecil could tell when Dave was giving him looks now despite the dark glasses, a fact of which he was immensely proud).

You're also the one who tells me it's unhealthy to talk to the other Daves, but at least I don't set up interviews.

Kevin and I are not the same person.

Clearly not. If we were I imagine we'd be able to, um...

Finish each other's sentences, Cecil finished proudly. Like _you_ do with the other Daves.

Yeah, you sure got me there, Mister C. Anyway, I'm your boss now for a while, Management's orders.

If he didn't know Dave so well, Cecil could have almost mistaken the undertone of those last words to be appropriately deferential and apologetic. But Dave was just being his version of nice about the direct command. After his history with authority over the past year, Cecil should have rankled at such a blatant and unjustified display of it, but he trusted Dave with his life. Still, as a good reporter, he had to ask.

What did Station Management tell you? What are you going to do?

All of my friends have been saved. And now I'm going to save them.

_ WE _ ARE, BULGELICKER. _YOU_ ARE _NOT_ MAKING ANY MORE DECISIONS ON YOUR OWN. IF YOU SO MUCH AS WANT TO USE THE LOAD GAPER YOU TALK TO ME FIRST, GOT IT, ?

You'll be the first to know. And you do remember you taught me Alternian, right, ?

OF COURSE I REMEMBER, I’M NOT AN AMNESIAC. WHAT WOULD BE THE POINT OF INSULTING YOU IF YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND IT YOU INSIPID NOOKRASH? I TAUGHT _YOU_. NO ONE ELSE.

Karkat glanced toward Kevin and back at Dave, and as Dave got what Karkat was saying, he just might have smiled. Hey, he was about to see his friends again after thinking they'd been dead for over a year, he figured he could cut himself some slack.

That’s...that’s wonderful, Dave! Whatever you need from me, I will do. 

Cecil had never heard such good news come from Station Management before. Or _any_ good news, rather. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything from them that hadn’t immediately filled him with dread or disgust. Although...that wasn’t to say that he was entirely exuberant now. But he refused to think about how Dave reuniting with his old friends might mean that his longest surviving intern who was now so much more than that would leave him by the wayside! He would help Dave however he could. 

He took Kevin's advice, and smiled.

Thanks, Mister C. I knew I could count on a standup guy like you. Your job’s pretty simple. Same as Kevin’s actually. For some reason phones don’t work between here and Desert Bluffs – I don’t even know how they work in this desert at all; I haven’t seen a cell tower the whole time I’ve been here–

Kevin had been feeling a little bit like the superfluous third lock on that iron maiden down in the Desert Bluffs station's basement/torture chamber (really, no one was walking away from one of those things with just _one_ lock), and seeing his chance to be helpful, he chimed in.

Well you wouldn’t see them. Cell towers are invisible. 

Cecil’s intern’s gaze was now fully on him, and as he looked into those two black, impenetrable lenses, Kevin thought he understood just a little better why everyone else found his own gaze so unnerving.

The more you know. Anyway, radio waves are the only way we can coordinate this thing, so you two radio hosts have to broadcast everything Karkat and I are doing, and we’ll stay tuned in to each other’s frequencies. This whole thing has to be as synchronized as the most deathly infirm of beats, because when the bass drops, so will all the tattered remnants of the laws of physics and possibility that these two towns are still politely wiping their asses with before shitting on them all over again. 

To translate some of that mouth garble that only qualifies as coherent speech by the laxest of grub standards, he means that Dave and I have to activate the reboot switch here and in Desert Bluffs simultaneously, because Night Vale and Desert Bluffs are two sides of the same revolving music disc.

That vernacularly challenged word vomit didn’t clear things up at all – he means record by the way – and my version was more poetic.

YOUR VERSION WAS MORE _SOMETHING_ , STRIDER. NAUSEATING MAYBE.

Fuck this, let’s get started.

Yeah, okay. Kevin, I swear on my martyred, cult-leader ancestor I will never ask another favor of you if you do this for us.

Kevin loved being useful. He didn’t even mind being used – after all, what were public servants like community radio hosts for if not for that? But his natural inclination only went so far.

Um well... All of this does sound very important, but I can’t just make an unscheduled broadcast with public equipment and using public airspace for a personal matter such as helping my intern and his friend recover their mutual friends from a long stasis in interstitial space.

Oddly enough, I think our Station Management will be more than happy to make an exception in this case. But you can ask them yourself when we get back to Desert Bluffs. 

Hm. If you really think so... Then I guess we should get going! Thank you very much for having me on your show, Cecil. You were an excellent host.

And you were a wonderful guest. Maybe next time...I’ll come visit you in Desert Bluffs.

There. He’d said it. There was no way he could take the words back – it was nowhere _near_ the right phase of the moon for that. As a radio host, Cecil had gotten very good at not saying things he would come to regret, but whether he would regret offering to visit Desert Bluffs remained to be seen. Anyway, there was always the possibility that he would suddenly be _very_ busy with work – _overwhelmed_ even – when the time came. Somehow he doubted Station Management would have any qualms about giving him a particularly (or even literally) consuming assignment if he was desperate enough to ask for one. 

Kevin just beamed as Cecil grimaced slightly. 

You’d be welcome any time! Except for three o’clock on Sundays. You really want to avoid those at all costs. 

Dave and Karkat had long since tuned out their questionably-superiors and were exchanging not-so-pleasantries of their own.

It should be physically impossible to screw this up in the short interval that we will be out of contact, but if anyone could do it, you could. _So don’t._

You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?

OF COURSE NOT YOU HOMICIDAL BASTARD! 

Fair enough. 

There were moments, Karkat had noticed this past hour, when the fight seemed to completely go out of Dave. Strangely enough, Karkat did not like these moments. 

Uh, hey. Why isn't this studio decorated with human blood and viscera anyway? 

Dude, that's not normal. Desert Bluffs and Night Vale are—

Dave stopped himself. Because if John had been there, he would have scolded Dave for blowing such a prime pranking opportunity.

Scratch that. Other than the gore, Desert Bluffs is totally normal. Night Vale too. Both perfectly typical, unremarkable Earth towns. Literal cookie cutters made of vanilla.

Before Karkat could get too suspicious, the chorus of “Pocketful of Sunshine” by Natasha Bedingfield erupted in small, tinny notes through the recording studio. Kevin didn’t even have the sense to look embarrassed when he pulled out a bright lemon yellow cell phone and excused himself to step outside. On the other hand, Karkat was plenty embarrassed for him, and Dave told him with a smirk that every bit of it was justified. 

Kevin was only gone for a few seconds before he returned. 

That was someone named Steve Carlsberg– Oh yes, I remember that name; he's a listener of ours here in Night Vale. Steve relayed a message from our Station Management! They want us back at the radio station immediately. 

That disloyal _jerk—_

Wow, whatever could they want with us? Maybe they’re throwing us a surprise party.

Oh, that would be _lovely_. But I don’t think the station is properly supplied at the moment. A real office party of any note requires the contents of at least three refrigerated vans for the decorations alone. Anyway, we must be off. Thank you again for your hospitality.

It was our pleasure. We’ll be hearing from you soon I hope. Just don’t let the pteranodons chase down your helicopter on the way out of town.

Karkat turned ashen. 

Is that a normal human valediction? As in, does it mean anything other than that there are literal helicopter-chasing pteranodons patrolling the skies? 

Karkat had tried to whisper, but he’d never quite gotten that particular art of subtlety down. Or any of the others, Dave would be quick to add.

Dave muttered his reply smoothly, because he, on the other hand, had mastered the delivery of subtle, sarcastic quips under his breath before he’d learned to fold a pair of shades.

You’ll be fine, dude. Just try not to look too tasty. 

Kevin was already hustling the mortified Karkat out of the room, but Karkat applied the last of his willpower to slam the brakes and ask Dave something he’d been meaning to ask him from the start.

How long have you been here, in this session, exactly?

Four hundred and...thirteen days. Well shit. 


	24. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's extra long to make up for the upd8 gap. The poem is a slightly altered version of the poem on the monolith in the dog park in “Poetry Week.” And thanks again to vanishedSchism for Karkat writing and general editing!
> 
> SPOILERS FOR WTNV (this comment isn't really important so stop reading these notes if you don't want a spoiler thing): For those of you caught up with WTNV, it's now become apparent that Kevin's pretty evil (unless he's just super brainwashed), which is cool. But I'm going to continue my version of his character as being a little more well-intentioned/empathizing. (Also canonical Carlos is a lot more Night Vale-ier than we were originally led to believe...)

Dave listened to the sound of helicopter blades fading quickly, and silently wished his friend a safe return. Since that pteranodon had escaped from the space-time vortex that opened during one of last year’s PTA meetings and found a way to hermaphrodidically reproduce, the infestation had become pretty serious and the fact that they were attracted to shiny helicopters was no laughing matter and since when had Dave Strider become such a caring, worrying...sap? He’d have to lock that down soon, or his friends might not even recognize him.

Since when do we have a helipad on the roof?

Cecil thought for a moment, steepling his fingers on his crossed knee and leaning back in his chair. 

I believe we had one last Tuesday for a few hours.

Dave didn’t know whether to smile or scowl at that. Not that he’d seriously been considering doing either, but sometimes he liked to entertain the idea of what facial expressions he  _would have_  made in reaction to things as an exercise. 

He imagined they would have run the gamut during his conversation with Station Management.

Hey Mister C? You know how you’re always saying that nothing’s real? Barring an explanation in existentialist verse, what exactly does that mean?

Well, it’s just...common knowledge, really. You don’t believe reality really  _exists_ , do you? 

Let’s say for argument’s sake that I do.

Hm. Well I think the best either side of that argument can do is put forth metaphors. Some people think of existence as a cosmic chess match, but the problem with that view is that those people tend to think of themselves as the pawns. Carlos has his science, but it sometimes seems pointless to measure and classify absences. I know Dana thinks of life as a dream, or perhaps many intersecting and diverging dreams in the mass consciousness of terrible, celestial beings. I prefer to think of everything as the plot of one great story...or...maybe _two_  stories that intersected somewhere along the way, and though both were confusing and strange, their sum somehow makes a chaotic sort of sense. That would make you and me characters. 

And how are characters better than pawns?

Characters in a story may not be autonomous and free-willed, but each one is important and has a unique part to play. They are, each one of them, individuals. The objective of a story is not to win anything, and while I don’t claim to know what the universal objective of all stories  _is_ , in my experience, it has always been to leave a place or a person better than before. That is certainly why I tell them.

Dave still wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being a character all that much, but at least it sounded better than being a chess piece. Still, his title as Knight didn’t bode well in that debate. 

And what if it all really is just a game? Would it still be worth playing?

Cecil’s eyes narrowed as he tried to pick out the different tones in Dave’s voice. It was quite a feat when he managed to pull it off, which was not often. 

Yes. Even if this is all a game, it is one I would play over and over into eternity, if given the chance.

Huh. You know for once you’ve made it all sound so simple. Here.

Dave handed Cecil the unmarked cassette tape that Station Management had given him, the twin of which was currently in the Sylladex of a grey-skinned, permanently bed-headed alien boy sitting beside a black-eyed, piranha-toothed radio host piloting a cheery yellow helicopter on its way back to a little authoritarian oasis called Desert Bluffs. 

That’s today’s weather. Remember when to play it?

Cecil nodded, a firm defense of his professional pride.

Good. I’ll be keeping in touch.

Dave tapped his radio watch.

Just keep broadcasting my movements so Karkat can synch up. I’m gonna go take my place on the chess board. 

Good luck, Dave.

With that, Cecil swiveled around to speak into the microphone on his desk.

As you have heard, listeners, today’s programming will be slightly different than usual. It is likely that, after today, many other things will be different. 

Cecil was not sure what possessed him to cover the mic and call one last question over his shoulder. Perhaps it was the disembodied consciousness of one of the radio station’s past interns still drifting about the building like the lingering scent of a basket of potpourri that had been thrown out the week before. 

Where do you have to go?

Dave paused at the doorway, and smiled.

Somewhere I’m not allowed.

~

Karkat leapt off the helicopter before it touched the ground and took off at a run. Then he stopped abruptly, swore, and ran back to his boss, who was just stepping out of the helicopter himself. 

Karkat unchaptcha’d the strange block of arcane Earth technology and thrust it at Kevin, who took it more out of self-defense than anything. 

THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO PLAY DURING THE WEATHER SEGMENT INSTEAD OF WHATEVER WHINY, LOG-DWELLINGS-FIRE SONG YOU HAD PLANNED. OR, INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT THE METEOROLOGICAL CONDITIONS OF THE DESERT BLUFFS AREA, JUST IN CASE YOU WERE ACTUALLY PLANNING ON DOING THAT FOR ONCE, WHICH I REALLY HOPE YOU WEREN'T BECAUSE THAT WOULD JUST BE TOO MUCH FUCKING CRAZINESS FOR ONE DAY. REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU ON THE WAY HERE? 

Kevin nodded. Karkat had said a lot on the ride back, and surprisingly, he had heard almost all of it despite the chop of the helicopter blades and the large pair of muffling headphones he’d been wearing. It was a testament to his young intern’s strong, supple (if slightly abused) vocal cords. Kevin even decided to let Karkat's swearing go, just this once, because, well, Cecil and _his_ intern seemed to have such a close relationship that went beyond simple professional respect through discipline, and...and that sounded kind of nice. 

I won’t play the tape until you radio in! And I will “be the omniscient narrator” for the next hour so that your friend in Night Vale will know when to do what. 

GOOD. WE'RE COUNTING ON YOU, KEVIN.

Kevin beamed, to chilling effect. 

I will perform my duties to the fullest!

Karkat gave a cautious smile in return, then turned on his heel and headed for the stairs down to the street. As he walked, he tuned his wrist-mounted crab communicator in to NVCR (A nice, mostly human male in IT at the station had modified it for two-way radio some time ago upon Kevin’s request. That man – Kallum – seemed willing to do almost anything if it was a favor for Kevin.) As he did so, he heard the Night Vale host’s voice greet him in warm, smooth tones.

_...and according to our sister show in Desert Bluffs, intern Karkat has just tuned in. Good evening, Karkat! Intern Dave is currently...hm, I would call it  _ strolling _– leisurely East down Summerset Street, listening to the Desert Bluffs broadcast of_ your _movements East down Sunset Street as_ you  _listen to_ my _broadcast briefly summarizing_ Kevin’s _broadcast..._

Karkat facepalmed. This was quickly getting ridiculous. Also, Dave was clearly mocking him for his short legs by walking slowly – he had done it a thousand times on the meteor, slowing down in front of Karkat as they walked together down one dark hallway or another and blocking Karkat’s way, tossing a “just making sure you can keep up” over his shoulder. One time Dave had followed up with, “your horns aren’t your only stunted appendages,” which predictably led to yet another shouting/smug deadpan-match-riddled-with-innuendo-devolving-into-a-furious-wrestling-match involving lots of kicking, scratching and biting on Karkat’s part and chokeholds, cape-smothering and flashed acrobatics on Dave’s. Without his sickles, Karkat had almost always lost those. But their sparring matches were different. When Karkat, sickles in hand, faced up against Dave with his sword, Karkat  _always_  lost. 

Karkat quickened his pace, and muttered to himself in irritation.

Bastard thinks he can set the pace because he thinks he’s some hot DJ—

_ Dave just said “Yes.” And he wanted to add that despite his pace-setting that he thought would allow you to recover the time you lost in transit, he is almost at our switch-point here in Night Vale. _

FUCK.

Karkat started to walk even faster. 

_ Dave says he can guess how close you are to yours given the fact that Kevin wouldn’t repeat whatever you just said on the air, and that he’ll just have to kill some time once he gets there. _

Fuck Dave and his time puns. With sharp, serrated implements. The insufferable prick would not be waiting long. Karkat broke into a run, straight towards Strex Tower looming up in the distance. 

~

Dave looked up at the tall, obsidian walls of the dog park and wondered, for the first time since he'd started living in this town, how the hell he was going to get inside. There were no cracks or faults in the smooth, black stone, and of course, no doors. And because there were no imperfections, he couldn’t climb over. He could pull some time shenanigans and turn back the obsidian’s timeline, but then it would become scalding hot, grist-eating, suit-singeing lava, which would not be an improvement. He could fast-forward the wall until it crumbled, but somehow tearing down the walls of the dog park seemed like a transcendently bad idea. They were there for a reason after all. He supposed if he moved quickly, he could go back in time to before the dog park was even built, step across where the wall  _will_  be, then jump forward in time again. But he had no idea what he’d be stepping into... 

Oh. Future-now-Past Dave was right, he really was missing a few gears somewhere. The really fucking tiny ones that watchmakers leave out and don't even know it until a customer comes back a few weeks later complaining, 'it just stopped.' 

With a slight scowl, he let himself rise into the air and flew up to the top of the wall. Looking down, he saw nothing but browning grass in all directions, stretching much farther than the single city block that the park occupied on the outside. Oh, and the giant, ominous stone monolith in the center, dead ahead. 

Cecil had said that the dog park was a blind spot in his creepy, techno-psychic vision, and they were hoping that by some shred of luck, whatever special laws radio waves seemed to follow in the greater Night Vale/Desert Bluffs area would hold for the dog park. Dana had already demonstrated just how useful a cell phone would be within those walls. 

Dave had had his watch tuned in to DBCR so that he could adjust his own tempo to Karkat’s as his friend approached the second switch-point over in Desert Bluffs, but now he switched over to good ol’ NVCR just as Cecil was broadcasting the fact that he was doing just that. 

Come in, Violet Leader. I repeat, come in Violet Leader. Do you copy?

Cecil’s voice came through the small speakers around the base of the watch, which Carlos had modified after the kidnapping incident to both transmit  _and_  receive. Cecil’s voice was crackly, but the signal was getting through. 

_ Loud and clear! Well, the static is loud at least. But it’s working! _

Can’t stop the signal, Mister C. The coast looks clear, I’m gonna go for it. Can you still see me?

_ You’re sort of... _ flickering.

Then I guess I’m about to drop off the radar. 

Dave scanned the the area below one more time, but there was nothing but the monolith as far as he could see. Dave shrugged – a gesture which, on him, would have been detectable only by the finest-tuned precision instruments – and dropped down onto the grass. 

Cecil yelped as a loud, high-pitched whine shot through his headphones. It faded quickly as Dave’s voice came through again, but it left his ears ringing. 

You alright, Mister C.?

_ I t-think so. Just some...painful interference. Are  _ you _alright?_

Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that. I’m gonna switch back to DBCR now, but I’ll keep you posted. Get ready to patch me in.

_ Just say the word.  _

Dave carefully readjusted the dials on his watch, tuning back into DBCR but keeping the NVCR transmitter switched on. Kevin’s voice buzzed out of the watch speakers.

_ Karkat has just walked through the doors of our parent company’s Strex Tower... _

Satisfied that the signal was as clear as it was going to get, Dave looked up to where the monolith had been. Hundreds of hooded figures now stood in his way.

~

Karkat had just walked through the doors of Strex Tower. He hadn’t noticed he’d been fidgeting nervously with the hem of his sweater until he accidentally shredded it with his claws. He swore – loudly, of course – and the eyes of everyone in the lobby slowly tracked to him. 

He paled, then swore more discreetly a second time, but he continued forward, the denizen/Station Management’s instructions at the front of his think pan, and memories of the last time he had seen his friends not far behind that. All of the yellow-suited (in HazMat suits, of course) employees and the vaguely metallic-looking guards watched him with interest, but didn’t make a move towards him. When he reached the security checkpoint, the guard took one look at his yellow [intern badge](http://museicbox.tumblr.com/post/94412342567/the-second-one-the-first-one-dave-for-my) and let him through without so much as a standard Psychic Evaluation of Intent. They were expecting him.

There were so many things in Strex Tower, the center of StrexCorp operations, that he was  _burning_  to investigate – and destroy. Apparently, even the C.E.O. had his office in here somewhere. But Dave was waiting for him, and despite everything that he had learned about StrexCorp over the last few perigees, and the fact that he may not get another opportunity like this one, his friends came first. And when he said (or thought? He hadn’t  _said_ anything for a while, but then again, since when were his thoughts this coherent? And since when had he started referring to himself in the third person? And asking questions of himself that made his head hurt like his horns had suddenly inverted through his skull? Oh, fuck this, he thought – or he  _thought_  that he thought) – When he said ‘friends,’ he supposed that included Dave too. Even if the human kid had had a raging psychopathic streak and was now suddenly obsessed with his other derpy friend to a degree that apparently eclipsed all he and Karkat had had for three of his meaningless human years. 

He called the mechanized cable box lifter and was already impatient after a few seconds of waiting for it. He could feel the eyes of the StrexCorp employees on his back, like theirs was a collective hive mind that could sense the presence of someone who hadn’t bought into their smiling lies. Finally, the cable box came. 

He stepped in and pushed the button with an infinity symbol on it at the top right of the curving tangle of buttons set into the cable box wall. It lit up an alarming shade of red. Of course, his destination was the top floor. 

~

Dave stood frozen, rapidly scanning the crowd of hooded figures for movement from behind his shades. But there was no movement. They stood in a perfect semicircle around him, equidistant from each other and each with a posture as perfect as Dave’s wasn’t. They didn’t shift or sway minutely like a human being would, and their chests did not appear to rise and fall with the tide of breath. They were just...watching him. Or the equivalent of watching for creatures without apparent faces, and therefore, eyes. Perhaps they were smelling him, he thought, and the corner of his mouth twitched up just slightly.

He uncaptchalogued his sword. There was no reaction. He took a step forward. The crowd of hooded figures took an equal step back (though it was more like a  _glide_ ), and one fell into the front ranks on either side, completing more of the circle behind him – as much as they could with the wall still fairly close at his back. Another ten steps forward, and the circle was complete, and a half dozen hooded figures thick. 

Next, because Dave was very into science these days, he tried taking a step back towards the wall. The hooded figures didn’t budge. He took another step back, and a rattling hiss seeped out from the black circle around him. The figures may not have had eyes, but they certainly had teeth – fangs, really – and they were currently displaying them with less shame than with which John showed off his shitty movie collection. 

Dave quickly returned to his position in the center of the circle. 

Welp.

~

Some things, apparently, are multi-universal. One of those things is the ‘ding’ of mechanized cable box lifter doors. Karkat stepped out of the cable box into a room that was surprisingly black for anything owned by the violently cheery mega-corporation. The walls, floor and ceiling (there was no furniture) were all made of a strangely porous plastic-metal, tessellated almost like honeycomb. When Karkat examined the floor beneath his feet more closely, he could see what the structure housed. Within each of the thousands of holes patterning the six internal sides of that cube-shaped room was a tiny camera lens, and they were all focused on him. 

Karkat shuddered, then grimaced. He had always hated attention from strangers – back home, it was lethal.  

He briefly tuned his communicator crab away from Cecil’s eloquent but long-winded description of the exact shade of noncolor of the void that he saw when he tried to look into the Night Vale public dog park with his bio-techno-magical radio host vision, and tuned in to DBCR to check that Kevin was still narrating his own movements. Not that Karkat didn’t entirely trust Kevin, but... Actually, that was exactly it.

Kevin’s voice came through clearly from the purple plastic crab. He was describing, in uncharacteristically laconic fashion, the room Karkat had found himself in. It made sense that Kevin was being careful – he didn’t want to step on any toes with their parent company by broadcasting privileged information on the air. But it was only when he heard Kevin move from an offhanded mention of the thousands of tiny cameras studding the walls to a brief statement about a large, black monolith in the center of the room that Karkat noticed the large, black monolith in the center of the room. 

To his credit, the thing blended in with the blackness of the rest of the room, but he still cursed himself for getting too caught up in the little details and missing the bigger picture. He began to approach the tall, thin spire cautiously, and the cameras tracked his movement. 

Hey, Kevin, I think Dave’s got the spectacularly vague picture. Are you ready to patch me in? 

_ Just say the word! _

Karkat had reached the base of the monolith, which was a lot taller than it had looked from the doorway. 

Okay, hold on. Now where’s this stupid poem?

~

Dave stood at the base of the monolith, which was a lot taller than it had looked from the edge of the park. The hooded figures now formed a perfect circle with him and the monolith at the center. They were still just watching, but he knew they would take a more active interest in him if he tried to back out. Not that he was even considering walking away now. 

He skirted the monolith until he found the inscription at the base – a poem proclaiming itself written in 1394 by “E” and titled, “In honor of nothing, that may once more become everything.” Dave had to admire the title’s sheer convolution, but he doubted that the poet had had irony in mind when he'd concocted it. 

He sighed at the lost opportunity and wondered briefly if he could rap the thing before he dismissed the idea as inappropriate—though he would never admit it. Of course he had matured some during his time in Night Vale, but not that much. 

_ Intern Karkat is standing ready to read the lovely bit of poetry at the base of the beautiful black monolith in the middle of the charming room full of gleaming cameras at the top of our beloved Strex Tower. And he just made some...very creative threats to intern Dave’s person if he should start rapping. I am...so proud! _

Dave chuckled. Karkat was more at home in Desert Bluffs than he thought. 

Okay, Cecil. Let’s make this happen.

_ You got it! _

There was a brief cut of static, and then Dave was hearing his own voice echo over the radio.

Ready when you are, Karkles.

He quickly tuned his watch back to DBCR to hear Karkat’s response.

_...BEEN STANDING HERE FOR MINUTES, ASSHOLE. _

Sorry, I had to wade through a flash mob of hooded figures. They kept hissing at me.

_...JUST GET THE HELL ON WITH IT. _

Obediently, Dave cleared his throat, and began.

The gentle boy in red light  
is a candle in his maybes.  
His face is a mask deceptive.

_ Do you ever stop to look at all the blood you gather? _  
_ False halos spring from your attention.  _  
_ She said, “watch with unshaded eyes _  
_ lest the truth again escape you.” _

_Said, “chalk’s wasted on blind children,”_  
_Traced the forms of bodies on the sidewalk._  
_What’s oracled entry in this weather?_

I heard it ticking, but it doesn’t leave a trace.  
When you catch a beating heart in the wind,  
you hold it squirming and say, “already lost.”

But the damn thing keeps on moving  
‘til you squeeze it in your hands.

Would you like  _to play again?_

_ I take you now, _ _ to the weather! _

The first few bars of a tune known to some (though none party to the events of that day) as “[Unite: Synchronization](http://homestuck.bandcamp.com/track/unite-synchronization)” began to play over the radio in both towns, perfectly in synch.  

At first, nothing happened. Then, everything happened. 


	25. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2x upd8 combo!

John Egbert was...a little confused. Okay, fine, he was  _very_ confused, but he was dealing with some really weird stuff! 

He supposed the confusion first started when Dave, his best bro in an entirely  _not_  wanting to stick their tongues down each other’s throats kind of way, had...well. That had happened.  Dave had found John in his old room back on LOWAS one day and he’d looked so serious, and a little scared, so naturally John thought someone had  _died_ or something, but then Dave had just told him he liked him. And John was completely justified in being confused about that, because of course Dave liked him; they wouldn’t be friends if he didn’t! After John had stopped trying to talk past the obstacle of Dave’s mouth on his and realized that  _holy shit, Dave’s mouth was on his!_  and after another few seconds of stupid shock, John had...still not pulled away. 

Kissing Dave was actually really nice. He had never kissed anyone else before except his dad (but no, that was a creepy comparison, not going there!), so he didn’t exactly have much to go on. But he was pretty sure that the reason that kiss was so great wasn’t because Dave was really good at it (which he was), but because Dave was Dave. And okay,  _maybe_  he had imagined what it would be like to kiss Dave before on a few occasions, but those times it had just been a spark of curiosity that his imagination had decided to light a forest fire with  _entirely not of his own free will_ – like when he wondered what Karkat would look like wearing a beagle puss and his brain conjured up a whole pop art gallery of Mona Lisa portraits of Karkat in every obnoxious color with a big, honking beagle puss covering half his face. John had no control over that kind of thing whatsoever. But there were also those few times when John had stopped himself from complimenting Dave on how nice he looked in those tight black jeans he used to always wear before he got his red god tier pajamas, because that would have been a weird and probably un-bromanlike thing to say. But John had secretly missed those jeans... 

Wow, how had John ever thought he was straight? He would have to apologize to Karkat for that one... Although on second thought maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to explain, ‘Hey Karkat, I thought I didn’t like guys, but it was actually just you.’ Of course he liked Karkat, but...well, he’d been over this. There was a difference between liking someone and  _liking_  someone. His dad had started to suspect something a lot earlier when he’d walked into John’s room one time while Dave was on screen in nothing but his boxers fuming about the horrors of sharing a living space with a sadistic older brother who would cover his younger brother’s body with custom smuppet temporary tattoos when he fell asleep on the couch. John might have been blushing then while Dave was too worked up to notice. His dad had said nothing, and just left the plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and glass of milk he’d brought on John’s desk, and closed the door behind him as he left. When his dad had opened that night’s dinner conversation with, “I hope you know, son, that I will always love you no matter who you love,” John had blushed  _furiously_  and spluttered that he and Dave were only the most platonic of palhonchos. His dad had left it at that, but John got the feeling he hadn’t been all that convincing.

But if John had been in denial, then  _Dave_... Dave hadn’t given any sign whatsoever that he’d liked John in the same way. Other than the times he was being overtly sexual in such a wildly inappropriate way that he had to have been joking. Although it was always kind of hard to tell when Dave was joking, because it seemed like he was doing it all the time while also being completely serious... Had John really just been that dense? 

Anyway, after all of that stuff had flashed through his head, John finally started kissing back when he realized Dave had started to tremble and was about to pull away, and when he realized he really didn’t want Dave to do that. They didn’t talk much after that, but they hadn’t really needed to. Both of them knew that friendship had walked up to them with open arms, pulled them in for a big, cozy hug, then yelled “PSYCH!” and mashed their faces together. 

They had slept together that night – not like  _that_ , just...together, in John’s old bed in his old room in his old house while the wind sang outside and the shade filled in the sky. Dave had seemed kind of sad, which John thought was weird at the time, because that had been the happiest John had felt in a really long time, but now John knew what else had been on Dave’s mind. 

Which brought him to his second point of confusion. Dave had seemed to really care about him – in fact, John  _knew_  Dave really cared about him, because Dave wasn’t as good a liar as he thought he was – but then the next day when Lord English had broken through to their session, Dave didn’t even give the giant skull monster time to open its jaws before he grabbed Jade’s hand and started tearing everything apart with pulses of red light that ticked horribly like a great clock winding down. Perhaps John was just a terrible judge of character, because he had never thought Dave (or  _Jade_ ) would willingly hurt his friends either (and  _damn_  had being torn apart and reassembled on a quantum level really hurt), and yet there he’d been, throwing everything he had into vicious, violent destruction of everything and everyone around him. John could have almost thought that Dave was doing Lord English’s work for him, if the monster had not been wearing the same mask of pain as everyone else. 

Dave had not looked at John once as he brought paradox space to its knees, but John would never forget Dave’s expression. It went beyond anger or even wrath – it was a hatred so intense that it could almost have been mistaken for the pain that those around him were experiencing. 

John had been informed that it was rare for Dave to be expressive, but John would never have known it. The first time he’d seen Dave in person he had been laughing so hysterically that tears had been streaming down from behind his shades. And long before that, when they had first started chatting on Pesterchum, every few lines of confrontational red text would be set off by a succession of overemotional and masterfully ironic selfies. In exchange, John would send him just plain goofy mugshots of himself interspersed with a few nice pictures of himself smiling just to keep Dave on his toes (though the real reason was usually that John just ran out of creativity before Dave did). That kind of open, honest intercourse with his friend had been totally normal, and– Um! Discourse! Discourse was what he meant to think there. Gah, you see the thing with the confusion now, right?! 

So Dave had kissed him one day and then tried to kill him the next, but now John was okay! Well, okay relative to being dead. He felt...safe. At first he had felt fear (of Dave), then pain, then a kind of  _lightness_ , and then more pain. And then, once he realized he was still alive, he felt hurt (by Dave), then angry (at Dave), then hopeful (that if he was okay, then everyone else might be too), then more fear (that everyone else might  _not_  be okay), and finally, confused. And, if he was honest, a little bored. 

He had had no concept of time when he first arrived here, wherever here was – the landscape kept changing, sometimes blank and empty, sometimes warm and dark and humming, and sometimes an endless desert with a single mountain in the distance (and  _always_  in the distance, no matter how far he walked in its direction) – but that fact had quickly changed when the broadcasts started. Oh yes, he was getting to those. But equally important in his opinion was that right around that time he had started seeing his friends! Rose and Jade, Sollux, Terezi and Kanaya, Jake, Jane, Roxy and Dirk, and even the Mayor! Every once in a while, he would look around and see one of them walking away in the distance, but when he called out, they wouldn’t turn. They just kept walking as if they couldn’t hear him. And like a mirage, no matter how fast he he ran to catch up, they would always be farther ahead of him, until eventually they would just disappear. John got the feeling he was the mirage too sometimes. 

The only people he hadn’t seen who had been alive at the end of the game were Gamzee, Karkat, Davesprite and Dave. God knows where Gamzee chuckled off to, and John wasn't exactly sure if Davesprite could exist outside the game, but Karkat and Dave... John knew where they were. Not long after the end, John had started hearing a smooth, sonorous voice on the air. It said the strangest things, but it didn’t take long for John to put together that he was somehow hearing the evening broadcasts of a community radio show in a desert town called Night Vale. A really  _weird_  desert town called Night Vale, and John had gotten used to weird at this point, but Night Vale was just  _bizarre_. He’d thought the guy – Cecil – was just making stuff up for a while, but every so often he’d mention an intern at the station named Dave. Though the name itself stirred a whole slew of confusing emotions within John whenever he heard it, he had never thought more of it. There were a lot of people named Dave in the world – John had even known another Dave in school, though the guy was a total dweeb, even by John’s standards. Nothing like his Dave. But then one day it was Dave’s voice on the radio, and John ended up with a mouthful of sand after doing a panicky double-take and tripping on his windsock hood. 

Dave had sounded...surprisingly normal. And John had been furious. He’d been furious at Dave for seemingly having moved on from dooming all of paradox space and his friends along with it a matter of weeks ago, but he’d also been furious at himself for the little flutter of relief he felt when he realized Dave was okay. But his anger had cooled over time (John had never been very good at holding a grudge), and as the voice that permeated the empty air was more often Dave’s, it became clear that Dave  _wasn’t_  okay. John should have known better, known  _Dave_ better, because for everything Dave said, there were ten things he left unsaid. And then John heard Dave tell his side of the story, and just like that, more confusion for John. And the way Dave talked about him...it made John’s heart break. 

More or less the same thing had happened with Karkat, except John knew from the first mention of him on Desert Bluffs Community Radio that it was the same Karkat. Because, well, Karkat really wasn’t that common of a name here on Earth, and wherever they all were, it was definitely Earth.  _How_  it was Earth was another matter that John didn't really want to think about.

It had been frustrating listening to Karkat and Dave talking from neighboring towns as if each were alone. It was also weird that they both ended up as community radio interns, as that was possibly the last thing John would have expected Karkat to do, given a choice. Although apparently he _hadn’t_ been given much of a choice... As for Dave, John had always thought he would be good at a radio station. He loved music unironically, which John would say was rare except he suspected that most of Dave’s ironic passions had become real passions for him somewhere along the way, and besides, he had a really nice voice... 

Ahem. So here John was, listening to Karkat and Dave  _together_  – well, actually in separate towns again, but they _had_ been together and they were talking to each other now, and they were...reading a poem. A nice poem, though unsurprisingly pretty weird, and a little uncanny, and then the two radio hosts played the same song for the weather simultaneously. John thought at first that he recognized it, but after a few bars it was obvious that he’d never heard it before. After a few more bars, he suddenly found himself standing in front of a lone, wooden door. He hesitated for one more bar, then opened it, and walked through.


	26. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are certain people where? Think: Derse and Prospit.

For two minutes and fifty-one seconds, everything happened at once. The hooded figures encircling Dave were one second a mob of rival street gangs, each with a glinting butterfly knife in hand, then the next second the knives  _turned_   _into_  butterflies and flew in dizzy spirals to the music from the new mariachi band. When Dave looked again, all of them had merged into a long, slender sea dragon, whose beached coils surrounded him possessively. 

The ground tossed underneath his feet, changing from sand to ice to foliage to strangely substantial cloud, and Dave had to cling to the monolith – the only unchanging landmark – just to cling to his sanity. In the distance, the radio tower stretched into a gothic purple spire that he knew as intimately as his own nightmares. 

~

Until a few moments ago, Karkat had been freaking the  _hell_  out. Currently, he was sprawled on the floor in the center of the room, gasping and trying to bring his pump biscuit rate down. 

The thousands of camera lenses embedded in the walls, floor and ceiling had turned to fish eyes the second the music started, and moments later they’d become tiny bullseye targets for poison dart frogs that started whizzing by him out of nowhere. Toward the end of what felt like an hour of one scene of terrifying nonsense after another, the walls briefly turned to glass and where the radio tower should have been, he instead caught a glimpse of a gothic golden tower that he had only seen once before, but would never forget. 

~

Rose stepped out into an empty house with nothing but paintings of lighthouses to shelter the bare walls, and she knew where she was almost as if she had been living in Night Vale her whole life. She now knew the town and its oddities as well as any other NVCR listener, and she was careful not to pass through any more doorways or touch any of the paintings as she made her way to where she thought the front door might be. 

She found Roxy and Dirk along the way. 

They had gotten to know their teen guardians somewhat before they were all flung into the the Land of Desert and Community Radio by a certain time player who Rose was trying very hard not to think about at the moment, despite her intimate knowledge of the fact that denial almost never helps. Roxy was...not perfect. But so much more perfect than she’d expected. And Dirk defied expectations as well. He was very different than how Rose had heard his alternate, older self described. It was obvious that this Dirk, despite his obnoxious shades, frustrating irony and circumlocution, and general superiority complex masking a deep fissure of insecurities – all in true Strider form – still cared deeply for the well being of others, often above his own. 

Of course, Dave cared just as deeply about his friends, but his true feelings were something he was ashamed of, something to shove down somewhere deep and dark and bury alive in thick, acidic tar in the hopes that no one could dig them up and use them against him. But Rose blamed Dave’s brother for that, and perhaps it was only because young Dirk had never gotten to know his older brother that he had turned out more well-balanced... How unsurprising. Rose couldn’t even get through an inner monologue without talking about Dave, could she?

After a tender but short reunion (there were gushing tears on Roxy’s part, and Rose couldn’t quite tell, but she suspected Dirk’s eyes were not entirely dry behind his shades), they continued looking for a way out together, and found one quickly. They stepped out into...complete and utter chaos.

Rose really needed to have a talk with her brother. Right after the sky stopped being a kaleidoscope.

~ 

John immediately fell flat on his face after stepping through the door. The ground was pitching beneath him, which was probably due to the fact that it was currently in the process of deciding whether it wanted to be a ball pit or a giant, hot iron. John was hoping for the former. 

Against all expectations, however, everything suddenly settled down into how it was supposed to be, and John found himself in the middle of what looked to be some kind of fair grounds, with the sun beating down far too bright and hot from above. He realized with an icy feeling entirely at odds with the weather that he must be in Desert Bluffs. 

His frustration cooled, however, when he saw that Jade, Jane, Jake, Kanaya, Terezi and Sollux had all blinked into existence around him. 

Guys!

John swept everyone off their feet with a gust of wind and proceeded to facilitate the most epic group hug in hug history. Not everyone was as committed to it as John was (Sollux may have been hissing, but the sound was swept away by the wind that whirled around them, keeping them all close and clinging to each other for fear of falling to the ground fifteen feet below), but that didn’t matter. He was with so many of his friends again, and he would see the others as soon as he could get to Night Vale. It was starting to look like five years of hell were finally over.  

~

Reality had finally stopped behaving like a moody tween going through an existential crisis, but as Dave and Karkat looked up from their respective locations, they knew that the hell was far from over. They had to get to the third monolith. 

Dave took off at full speed through the air towards the open desert between Night Vale and Desert Bluffs. 

Karkat let out a particularly creative string of profanities, and then a desperate plea to whatever smiling god the humans seemed to fear in this place that Kevin hadn’t been listening, then sprinted for the mechanized cable box lifter. 

~

Davesprite was temporally, physiologically, and emotionally confused. One second he had been playing his programmed part in the virtual Hell known as Namco High, and the next he was re-coding into existence in the living room of some old woman and a bunch of angels. 

Namco High was a dating sim that his character data had been shoved into somehow when Alpha Dave had crashed SBURB (Yes, Davesprite had realized exactly what Dave was doing; he’d just been too shocked - and then too late - to stop him. What Davesprite didn’t know was whether he  _would_  have stopped him. He could see Dave’s logic, and if he were Dave… Well, the line there was as thin as a couple of orange feathers and an occasional birdseed craving, and he didn’t like to think about it.) At first he’d thought that Terezi and Jane had been stuck in the dating sim with him, but he quickly realized that those game characters were not the genuine articles. They were just scavenged stats and basic character traits. He had been truly alone there, aware of his multi-choice birdcage, but unable to do anything but play the lovebird. Over and over again until he mercifully lost his count. 

Now though, he had found himself back in SBURB. Some kind of failsafe session, from what he could tell. At first he’d thought that all of Dave’s efforts had been for nothing, but when he dug further into the session data, he found the still-active player files and locations for everyone who had been alive at the end of the game. And they were all heading to a certain point in the middle of the desert. At first, the place seemed completely arbitrary, but upon closer inspection, he noticed a seam in the coded landscape, as if a giant hole had been ripped there, and then resealed. The coordinates were tagged, “MAXIMUM SYSTEM OVERRIDE. PRIORITY ONE CONTAINMENT. DO NOT BREACH.” In other words, the game was keeping something in there that it really didn’t want to get out. But from the straining limits of the system, whatever it was would break through soon. Very soon. 

No thank you.

He’d realized the old woman had offered him soul tea. He gave her a slight nod, then shot out the front door like a bullet.

~

Karkat ran out through the emergency exit at the back of Strex Tower and into the fair grounds behind the building. Kevin had said he would make sure a helicopter was waiting there for him, and sure enough, he could see the glinting yellow machine at the other end of the grounds. But before that was a small crowd of bewildered, suspiciously windswept dorks who he’d recognize anywhere, not in the least because they had featured in his dreams nearly every night for the past six perigees. 

Kanaya was the first to notice the small, messy-haired troll sprinting towards them, yelling indistinctively and waving his arms like a maniac. She calmly announced to the rest of the group that Karkat would be with them soon.

Karkat barreled into John, who tried to give him a hug rather than get out of his way.

IT’S NICE TO SEE YOU TOO, DERPTEETH, BUT WE HAVE TO GET TO THE THIRD MONOLITH AND HELP DAVE.

Is Dave in trouble?!

Karkat let out a frustrated sigh that might have been more of a growl. 

JEGUS NOOK-CHAFING CHRIST, NOT YOU TOO.

Is this it?

Jade was holding out her fingers in a box, forming a window to a patch of open desert with a tall, black monolith rising up out of the sands. It was darker there somehow, though the desert seemed the same as the one they were currently in, and a writhing, sparking tear of green energy was stretching between sand and sky. 

FUCK. YES, THAT’S IT. CAN YOU GET US THERE?

Jade nodded firmly.

Karkat, what’s happening?

WHAT IS THE WORST POSSIBILITY YOU CAN IMAGINE?

~

Dave saw the widening seam of crackling green energy long before the monolith came into view. Station Management had told them that the game had locked the most volatile and powerful players in a bubble dimension to this one so that they could not wreak havoc in and even destroy the game’s final and only copy. Dave probably would have ended up there himself if he wasn’t the one who had to restart the thing. Now that the game had rebooted, however, it was a waste of energy and an “unfair” handicap to those players to keep them tucked away in a separate dimension, according to Station Management. As such, the boundaries were starting to dissolve.  

With an earsplitting, static ripping sound, the pronged prow of an enormous red battleship tore through the splitting seam. Dave hadn’t expected his mind to immediately be barraged by the commands, “OBEY,” “SUBMIT,” “CONSUME.” The words pounded in his head like a shitty, amped up bass beat, and he covered his ears pointlessly, gritting his teeth as his eyes shifted in and out of focus. 

He had stopped, trembling, in midair, trying fiercely to hold on to his sanity, when he saw something black and winged shoot out of the dimensional tear. Its sword flashed in the radioactive green light, and then it saw him. No doubt Jack Noir and the others remembered exactly who had locked them in that dimension in the first place. 

Jack had not advanced far, however, when a monstrous, earth-shaking roar reverberated through the air. A moment later, a green-scaled, clawed limb the size of a tree trunk reached out through the tear and sliced violently through the air. Lord English was bigger than Dave remembered.

Shit. He hadn’t really rushed in without a plan, had he? What was it? What had he thought he was going to fucking do?? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t  _think_ – OBEY. SUBMIT. NO, FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!

He had just enough self-awareness left to notice the bright white light accumulating in the jaws of the emerging skull monster and violently jerk himself out of the way, but then something happened that cut through the psychic consumerist propaganda and clear his mind cold. There was a flash of familiar green light, and then a group of kids and trolls appeared in the middle of it all. His eyes fixed on the black-haired boy in blue, and his breath caught. 

They were right in the path of Lord English’s laser. 


	27. An East Wind (Part 18, Part 7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter, everyone! There will be an epilogue coming soon that will tie up some things, but this is the first ending. Thank you all so much for following, commenting and even contributing ideas! It's meant a lot to me. I might write more fanfic in the future, I might not. But if I do, I'll post it here <3
> 
> Thanks to Madame_Kockout for the Davesprite/angels connection! And I really tried to incorporate Chippy's idea of a NV vs. SBURB angels showdown, but it didn't quite work :(
> 
> JSYK, I have a headcanon that Sollux ships John/Dave because colors.

Seeing John and the others in the path of imminent vaporization jerked Dave back, not only into his right mind, but 413 days into the past.  

He was floating in a stretch of space, unremarkable save for the fact that it would soon become the epicenter of the violent unraveling of SBURB from all of paradox space, taking all of the beings currently playing or inhabiting its sessions with it. Dave would be the cause, and – he  would believe for a while – the sole survivor. 

He was surrounded by his friends and alternate-future-ecto-relatives, and he had seen this scene play out so many times before, seen them all flash-burn to ash so many times before, that as he looked around, all he saw were talking, breathing corpses. At least that made it easier to do what he knew (or thought he knew) that he had to do. 

He had seen every eventuality, and they all lead to death. Sometimes it was delayed, depending on whether he warned his friends that they wouldn’t even have seconds between when Lord English broke through into their session and when he blasted them all with his white laser. If they chose to fight, they would lose quickly. If they ran, then English would catch up. They couldn’t jump sessions or travel through extra-dimensional space as easily as the Time Lord could (it had taken a tremendous amount of time, energy and sacrifice just to escape one), and so it was always only a matter of time. 

Dave had decided it had to end, and he was not going to let Lord English survive after killing his friends hundreds– _thousands_ of times. It was hard for non-time players to understand, but each death was just as real as any other, even if the timeline dead-ends and is re-written or looped out. Each version of a player in alternate timelines has lived the same life up until the point where time splits and hurls one on to the next junction, and the other to their doom. 

He knew he could do it. He could feel the power whipping and surging, unbridled within him like an industrial cord pulled too tight, just waiting to snap and slice through anything in its path on its way back to equilibrium. 

He had chosen not to warn his friends that final time (Jade excepted…). He hadn’t wanted the last expression he would ever see on their faces to be grim determination, and beneath that, hopelessness. He had seen that one before, and he preferred those final jokes and smiles (he’d memorized them all), and even the shock and fear that seized them before the hopelessness had time to take hold. Still, that meant he had to deal with those final looks of incomprehension and betrayal. And by ‘deal with,’ he meant ‘fix his attention on Lord English until the fucker went down.’

He remembered the plan now. He and Karkat had agreed, back in Station Management’s office, to meet out in the desert at the third monolith and fight whatever came out of it together - hopefully before the SOBs could free themselves entirely from the tethers of their separate dimension. But Dave had only agreed to that sad excuse for a plan because he knew he could get there faster than Karkat. And he would have, if Karkat hadn’t apparently met up with some of the others, Jade included. 

Dave cursed Karkat’s stubborn compulsion to help. This was a battle between monsters, and none of his friends belonged here with him.  

The white light intensified inside Lord English’s jaws. Not a second had passed since the others had appeared, and not a second more _would_ pass before they would be obliterated if Dave didn’t do something _now_. 

There was a rumbling hiss that, even after a year and a half, still felt like a machete to Dave’s spinal cord, and then Lord English opened his jaws wide. Almost as wide as John’s surprised eyes. 

STOP!

Dave’s scream echoed through deathly still air. 

~

One second, Jade had unwittingly teleported them all into the middle of a four-way showdown between the Condesce, Jack Noir, Lord English and Dave (Dave looking like he was just barely staying in the air, let alone able to fight back), and the next, the dark skies were rapidly clearing, the spitting dimensional energy was beginning to calm and fizzle out, and there were no malicious sea troll empresses, god-dog-crows or enormous, paradox space-fracturing cherubs to be seen.  

She had had a flash of horrible memory of the day she had last encountered Lord English, of helping Dave destroy all of time and space within SBURB, of Rose’s look of shock and anger, of John’s look of pure betrayal and of Dave gripping her hand so tightly she thought the little bones would break if reality persisted much longer. 

But now, everything seemed…fine. She saw Dave lower himself to the ground, and collapse in the sand. John ran to his side.

~

John dropped to his knees where Dave was sprawled in the sand, and immediately realized that Dave wasn’t injured, or even unconscious. 

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Stopping time is…fucking…hard.

John chucked, and gently lifted Dave’s head into his lap. Then, even more carefully, he removed his shades. 

Dave’s blood-red eyes opened slowly, squinting in the sunlight directly overhead until John blocked out the light by leaning over to stare down at him.

Is it over?

Yeah. Consider your ass saved. You can carve the marble statue of me in front of City Hall later. 

A huge smile broke across John’s face, showing off his teeth – teeth which Dave had insisted multiple times that the people who designed airplane runways could learn a thing or two from – and he kissed Dave lightly on his forehead. It was worth the mouthful of white hair that he got for his trouble. It was worth even more when Dave responded with a small smile of his own. 

That is, until the smile turned to a grimace and Dave scrambled to his feet, taking a step back.

Wait, get the fuck away from me! I tried to fucking _kill_ you! Did you _forget_ that?

Dave had a point. John should want to get as far away from his best friend as possible. Except, he didn’t.

Dave, I don’t think you did the right thing… But I do think I forgive you for doing a really horrible thing. I know you were _trying_ to do the right thing.

John could tell he wasn’t getting through. Dave had shut down, his face impassive and unreadable except for the slightest trace of anger in the hardness of his eyes. John didn’t think Dave was angry at him, however. And that made John angry.

There’s an expression about good intentions.

Since when do you care about clichés like that? No wait, I think I've seen you _hiss_ at them like a demon splashed with holy water. But you’ve always forged your own path, Dave, and yeah, sometimes it steers you wrong, but that just means…

What? It just means what, John?

That you need someone to steer you right again. And…that person doesn’t have to be me, in _that_ way, if you don’t still want… But you need your friends, and we need you too. 

Dave took a shaky breath.

Of course I still want that. But you can’t say that stuff to me. It’s everything I’ve been hoping— I don’t deserve it. 

John took a cautious step forward. Dave didn’t back away this time. 

You _do_ deserve it. You just saved all our asses, remember? That makes us even.

You know it doesn’t work like that.

John narrowed his eyes. 

Do you really want me to do the cheesy make-up speech? Because I can _do_ the cheesy make-up speech. You know why you deserve friends who forgive you? Because that’s what friends do when one of them messes up, even if he messes up really badly. And because if I had been in your place, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same thing. We were all pushed too far in that stupid fucking game, and _still_ you are the best friend anyone could ask for, Dave. And I love you. 

Dave stood frozen and tense with an odd expression on his face, and John thought perhaps he had broken him – gummed up his gears with too much sap. But finally, Dave met John’s eyes.

You’re the thing I don’t deserve, John. I don’t even know if I have a heart anymore, or if it’s just…fucking clockwork. But whatever’s left, it’s yours. It’s always been yours. 

John was finally close enough to boop Dave on the nose if he wanted to. Or something else.

Can I kiss you? Like- Like last time? 

No.

John’s face fell.

That kiss had all the elegance of an emotional keysmash. We’re doing it right this time. 

With that, Dave slowly closed the distance between them, giving John plenty of opportunities to back out, none of which he took. The kiss was gentle at first, almost as if they were still best friends and nothing more or less. But with Dave’s long-cultivated desperation and John’s general overenthusiasm, they got a little carried away. 

DON’T YOUR HUMAN RESPIRATORY SACS NEED TO TAKE IN MORE AIR AT SOME POINT? AIR THAT ISN’T FROM THE OTHER’S MOUTH I MEAN. 

Dave flashstepped back, and John nearly toppled forwards. Unfortunately, Dave hadn’t reacted fast enough to escape the flash of a camera, and he turned just in time to see Kanaya cooly slip her phone back into her skirt pocket. She smiled sweetly at him. Dirk wolf-whistled. 

He had forgotten the others were there, and at some point, Davesprite had joined the party with Rose, Dirk and Roxy. 

Rose walked up to her brother and patted him on the back.

Congratulations on expressing your feelings, Dave. That’s the first step to psychological balance. Although I would still like you to visit me regularly at the practice I intend to establish in Night Vale.

I– Wait, how do you know about Night Vale?

We all received Night Vale Community Radio quite clearly in whatever inter- or extra-dimensional space we have been inhabiting for the past year and a half. I must say, your radio presence is very compelling. 

Your voice tastes like cherry-vanilla ice cream with hot, chocolate syrup.

Dave turned paler, if such a thing were possible.

We all heard everything, Dave. 

EXCEPT FOR ME APPARENTLY. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK YOU ALL ARE TALKING ABOUT.

I’m with you, dude. Not even within a ten-mile radius of where the loop is.

If everyone knows exactly what I did, then why are you all acting so casual after I literally tried to _murder_ you? It was fucking _premeditated._  

Sollux spoke up unexpectedly.

I don’t thee why you’re making thuch a big deal out of it. It wath more a failure on your moirail’th part than anything.

Kanaya nodded sagely, and Terezi flashed a razor-sharp grin in John’s general direction. 

Karkat thought hard for a moment before adding,

YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, DAVE. But your heart is in the right place. Approximately. Doesn’t mean you shouldn't worship the ground that sock-headed derp walks on…or doesn’t…for the fact that he would even consider sharing a quadrant with you. 

(John was currently floating a little. But hey, walking got boring quickly when there was little else to do for months on end.) 

You made a mistake, Dave. A bad one, but the reasons you made it matter. Revenge was certainly a part of it, but neither myself nor many of us here are innocent in that regard. And I believe that stopping a greater threat was also at the front of your concerns, and even, I dare say, love. 

What she said! 

Thank you, Roxy. And John is right. The game put us all in positions no one should ever have to weather, especially children, and that is what we were and in many respects, still are. We all know you wouldn’t have harmed us if you’d thought you’d had any other option. I think the best thing we can do now is to try to put those years behind us, and learn from our mistakes. 

So everything’s fine, I’ve learned my lesson, and we just move on?

It’s not a question of simply learning a lesson. You have to work on your penchant for self-sacrifice. 

_ Self _ -sacrifice? You’ll have to enlighten me there, Dr. Lalonde.

As I said. You scarified all that meant the most to you, because you believe that is the only way to solve the most difficult problems. You didn’t trust anyone else to be able to help, and you believed the grim inevitability to be yours alone to bear, and so you took it all upon yourself. Am I wrong?

Dave remained silent. He hated it when Rose could read him like this. Sometimes it seemed like she knew him better than he knew himself.

I just hope you will remember that though we are all fallible, it is because of that fallibility that we rely on each other. 

Dave decided to let Rose have the last word. She was right about almost everything. Except this last fight was one he’d had to fight alone. His friends would have been as good as kindling against Lord English and the other two. 

Perhaps that was the last time he would ever have to go it alone, but he suspected not. 

Rose stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a black lipstick mark. Then she whispered,

Of course, there are exceptions to any rule. I missed you, Dave.

Then it dawned on Dave that Rose’s words hadn’t so much been for his benefit, as for the benefit of those around him. Jade, Jake, Roxy, Dirk (it was in the way he clenched his jaw - Bro used to have the same tell) and even Karkat and John were still looking a little uneasy in front of him, and a simple resolution always made everyone feel better. 

Thanks, Rose. I missed you too. Now can I have my fucking shades back, Egbert?

Dave’s face was beginning to feel a bit too warm, and there was an annoying prickle in the corners of his eyes.

Nope.

John, seriously, give me–

There was a snap, and Dave _squeaked._ In the coolest, most ironic way. 

John gave Dave an apologetic smile as he dropped the remnants of Dave’s shades into the sand. 

No more hiding stuff, okay?

But–

John silenced him by brushing a kiss to his lips.

Besides, your eyes are really pretty. 

…Fuck. I’m never gonna win another argument with you, am I? 

Um, I don’t mean to interrupt, chaps, but what exactly happened to all of the giant monsters just now? They didn’t just vanish, did they? 

Somehow Dave managed to tear his eyes away from John long enough to answer Jake. 

After living in Night Vale for a year, with all of its temporal fucked-up-ness, and after his experiments with Carlos, Dave had a pretty good grasp on exactly what he could do. His god tier powers weren’t something he turned on and then held onto for dear life anymore. He had control. And the thing was, as powerful as Lord English had become, he had never god tiered. The guy may have been able to bend and even fracture time in places, but Dave could make it fucking _dance_. 

He explained briefly how he had stopped time for a while to properly dispatch Jack, the Condesce and Lord English. While they were frozen and helpless, Dave went around and rewound each of their timelines. Jack, he returned to his component parts: a dead crow, a sad Carapacian with a little knife and none of his henchmen, and Becquerel, who disappeared as soon as he was freed, though Dave expected he would find his way back to Jade soon. He then dropped Jack off inside a certain forbidden dog park, and since Jack was no longer part dog, Dave figured he wasn’t technically breaking the rules. 

He turned Lord English back to a colorful, striped egg, and he'd guessed Dana wouldn't mind him borrowing her kitchen for a while as long as he left her a hot, tasty omelette when he was done. Her Imperious Condescension he rewound to her bratty, teenage self before she stole any of her powers, like the chick who tried to stab him with a pitch fork in a dream bubble once. Then he dropped her out in the desert somewhere.

I’m guessing the desert’s not exactly Disneyland for a sea troll. But she might just make it to Desert Bluffs, if she’s really, really unlucky.

I would've just let them all hang from the radio tower, but your sentences were creative, I guess. You have a devious mind, Dave.

From Terezi, it sounded like the highest compliment. 

Dirk gave Dave a discreet thumbs-up before breaking off to catch up with Roxy, Jane and Jake. Whatever problems he and Jake had been having before all of this, they seemed to have been forgotten as Jake slipped his hand into Dirk’s, and Dirk held it like he was never going to let go. 

Rose and Kanaya retreated a little ways to talk in private, leaving Dave with John, Terezi, Karkat, Sollux, Jade and Davesprite. 

Good job, dude. Couldn’t have done it better myself.

Where the hell were you this whole time? 

Funny you should mention Hell. I was transferred to a high school dating sim where the main character was this weird little pink jelly bean head in a space monkey unitard– Oh _god_ , and I actually thought that thing was _cool_. That game must have seriously messed with my programming, because there is no way I would spill my guts out over and over again – and not in the normal way where I have a gaping hole in my stomach with a sword through it – to some random alien kid. I ate fucking _birdseed_. Shit was humiliating. So what have you been up to?

I, uh, intern at the local community radio station. Made friends with the host and his scientist boyfriend.

Sounds duller than a documentary on the making of one of Daddy Egbert’s shirts.

Ha. I wish.

I think I should take gentlemanly offense at that. 

If people actually cared about half the things I said, half of paradox space would have taken offense by now. Anyway, I’m going to do a flyover of this town we’re apparently going to be spending the rest of the foreseeable future in, maybe see if that nice old woman and her angels wanna knock back some hard alcohol. Call me if you need me.

Davesprite tossed a new sprite medallion Dave’s way. Dave caught it, and by the time he’d slipped it around his neck, Davesprite had been swallowed by the sunset. 

Dave knew Davesprite was unhappy. He and the other Daves never could hide anything from each other, and kissing John in front of the guy had just added insult to injury. Dave was pretty sure he had enough control now to merge their timelines back together – they would be the same person again, just with two sets of memories that diverged and re-converged over a five-year period. But the choice would, of course, be Davesprite’s. If Rose was right, and Dave really was too inclined towards self-sacrifice, then the first thing he could do was try to help out his alternate self. 

Dave was certain that none of the others had noticed Davesprite’s dark mood. The small smile he’d worn to cover it up would have looked genuine to anyone else but Dave. Funny, it was almost identical to the one on Jade’s face.

Seeing as Karkat and Terezi were busy arguing about something – amicably for the most part, from what he could tell – and Sollux was ignoring everything but his phone, Dave figured it was a good time to talk to her.

Hey, Jade. It’s really nice to see you again. 

Jade’s smile widened a little, and turned that much more heartbreaking. 

It’s great to see you again too, Dave! 

She bounded up to give him a hug, but she still somehow managed not to get too close.  

I’m so glad everyone’s okay and together again. That’s everything I could have hoped for. 

It’s more than I let myself hope for. But you’ve always had more faith in that kind of thing than me. Fuck, I’m already messing this up. I’m sorry. That’s what I’m trying to say here. I’m sorry I made you pull the trigger with me. I–

Dave, you didn’t _make_ me do anything. 

But you trusted me that it was the only way to stop English, and I was wrong.

I made the same decision you did. We both know now that it was the wrong one, and we’ve both felt worse than horrible about it for a long time, but at that point, I didn’t see a way out for any of us either. You were just the first to admit it, and to have the courage and the will to try to save a reality that we weren’t going to be around to appreciate very much longer. Even if that day had worked out exactly as you planned it, at least you would have made everything that we did in that game meaningful. It would have been the best outcome. 

Dave was really wishing he still had his shades right about now.

If there was such a thing as being too nice, you’d be the fucking Jedi Master of the art.

I’m not just being nice. I meant all of that.

I know. That’s kind of what I was getting at. But I also wanted to say sorry for… Ah, shit. I mean, the way things are with John now… I know that you…

That I had a huge crush on you? It’s alright, that’s not something you have to apologize for. You and John are perfect together. I know my eyesight’s horrible, but I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. 

Dave glanced back at John, who was looking very embarrassed by the new turn in the conversation, and just a little bit guilty. 

Besides, ‘had’ is the operative word. Destroying the universe with you kind of put me off a little. 

They both chuckled at that, and John let out a sigh of relief. He hated drama, and it wasn’t enough for him that the four of them had survived SBURB. He needed their friendship to survive as well. 

You know, there are a lot of cute, young scientists in this town. There are, like, three just in Carlos’ research team, and that’s not including the man himself. 

Should I be worried about you, Dave? Because I’m not sure I can pull off the whole ‘jealous boyfriend’ character. 

Jade giggled. 

Yeah, your character’s more like the nerdy chick who spends every night in her room until her friend drags her out to the dance one Saturday and she takes off her glasses, lets down her hair, and everyone realizes she’s smoking hot.

You just gave me a girl part.

I also just said you were smoking hot. How's that for not hiding stuff?

Um...

And anyway, Jade, there’s always Karkat. You could beat out the vigilante, synaesthetic blind girl any day. 

Dave made sure to say that last part loud enough that Terezi could hear. Actually, he could have whispered it and Terezi would have heard. He was pretty sure she’d been following their entire conversation. 

You might find something nasty in your bed tonight, Dave. It might have teeth. 

Whoa, Pyrope, what will you be doing in my bed?

Terezi grinned at that. 

DOWN, STRIDER. YOU’RE EMBARRASSING YOURSELF.

Oh, you don’t know the half of it, dude. 

Dirk was suddenly beside Dave, and the others were making their way back to the larger group as well, ready to leave that empty little patch of desert behind them.

Dirk and Dave, after a few days of awkwardness, painful memories and associations, and a good all-out strife, had been surprised to find that they actually got along better with each other than they had with their older alternates. Some people would say that that was not a difficult achievement, but those people wouldn't know what the hell they were talking about. Dave and Dirk might have had unconventional relationships with their bros that were hard to understand, but they'd been family, and they'd fucking loved each other.

Dirk had quickly adopted the role of the older brother, though he and Dave were exactly the same age. He attributed his authority in part to the slight height difference between them that fell in Dirk's favor (though the difference was even slighter if you didn't count hair, which Dave didn't think you should), his self-proclaimed greater "emotional maturity," and most importantly, to the fact that Dirk had won that initial strife.

If you want embarrassing, you should have heard my bro pining over this blue-eyed nerd on the radio. 

What the hell? I was not–

Yeah you were – head over heels. I’m the Prince of Heart, I can read that shit like it has pictures. But if you’d like some evidence, I believe you actually used the word “breathtaking” unironically. 

Karkat gave Dave a curious, appraising look, and if John was blushing before, he was positively florid now. Dave flipped Dirk and Karkat off simultaneously, but the gesture was as good as a white flag. 

Luckily, the group had reassembled, and Sollux pointed out that if they didn’t all get back to Night Vale soon, everyone who Dave and Karkat had worked so hard to save would freeze to death in the desert at night. Jade obligingly teleported them all to the radio station. 

~

Cecil had been biting his nails for most of the afternoon – a habit he hadn’t resorted to since those first few months of agonizing over the beautiful new scientist in town. He had caught a brief glimpse of Dave as he’d raced from the dog park to the third monolith, but the monolith itself was located just at the edge of his perception (the city limit of Night Vale, by definition), and the events that occurred there were all a haze. 

It was quite a surprise, therefore, when twelve teenagers of differing planetary origins suddenly appeared in his studio. But Cecil was nothing if not accustomed to surprises.

You must be Dave’s friends! It is an inexpressible pleasure to meet you all, and to see that everything worked out more or less as planned today. I apologize for not being a better host and offering you coffee, but you really shouldn’t go into the break room without me, for your own safety, and we are still on the air. 

Oops, sorry! Should we wait outside?

Cecil made a high-pitched noise that made several people flinch and Dave hide his face like he knew what was coming.

And you must be _John_! You in particular have caused my young intern quite a lot of strife this past year and a half.

Cecil’s tone changed dramatically.

I do hope you were worth it.

Dave buried his face deeper in his hand and grumbled,

Less suspicious father, more professional superior please, Mister C.

Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friends. And don’t you worry about waiting outside; consider this a freeform interview. You are, after all, the subjects of tonight’s broadcast. All of Night Vale was rooting for you. And possibly a few listeners in Desert Bluffs, though I wouldn’t count on it. 

Thank you very much for taking care of Dave, Mister Palmer. I know it meant a lot to him.

Cecil smiled warmly, and shook Rose’s offered hand.

You must be Rose. I’m afraid Dave has been a guardian to me and Carlos and to Night Vale as much as we have been guardians to him. 

Between you, me and the listeners, I think he has a bit of a hero complex. Topped with a generous dollop of denial about the fact.

Hey! What about doctor/patient confidentiality?

Does that mean you're consenting to be my patient?

You sure you can take me on? I've probably got more baggage than LAX at Christmastime.

That's why you should outsource some.

Okay, then let's continue this conversation Tuesdays at five, and _not_ over the public airwaves.

I'll pencil you in.

Do you think...you might be able to help with the recovery of memories?

Rose's smile softened.

I've read a few books on the subject. I can certainly try.

Dave made his second voluntary public display of affection within an hour then, surprising both himself and everyone else in the studio. He put a hand on Cecil's shoulder.

Whatever you remember about yourself and what happened to you, Mister C., I believe in you. And that makes you real, at least to me.

Cecil gave Dave a slightly mystified but nonetheless grateful look, while the look Karkat regarded him with was full of understanding, and even - if Dave squinted - grudging admiration.

Thank you, Dave.

This is a nice set-up you’ve got here, Mister Palmer.

Cecil, please. And Dave said the very same thing the first time he saw my studio equipment. 

Shit. We really are ecto-paradox clones, bro. How heartwarming.

Dave would have rolled his eyes if he’d still had his shades. As it was, he gave Dirk an ‘I hate you’ smile, and got on with the rest of the introductions. 

My, there are a lot of you.

You wouldn’t have room for everyone in your studio if we'd all survived SBURB.

…Oh. Well, Carlos and I are offering our house where all of you can stay until you find homes of your own here in Night Vale. Or sandpits, or hollowed-out tree trunks or– Well, to each his own. 

That is awfully kind of you, sir. 

The rest of the group chimed in their thanks as well, none of them too keen on being left to their own devices to get off the streets and find shelter in this strange town before nightfall truly set in.

Thank you very much for your hospitality, Cecil, but you'll be getting rid of me tomorrow. I have some unfinished business in Desert Bluffs.

And I'm going with him. From what I've heard, the tech induthtry ith more advanthed over there. And I'm honethtly thurprithed that he'th managed to thurvive thith long without me.

I wish you two the best of luck, then. Desert Bluffs is a barbaric and bloodthirsty town, so naturally, you are invited to come back and visit us here in Night Vale any time. And John, you are welcome to stay with us and Dave indefinitely. We’d be happy to have you. 

Actually, Mister C., as much as I love you and Carlos, I’m 18 now and I have a boyfriend. I think it’s time to move out of my parents’ house. 

Cecil positively beamed at that. 

Of course, of course! We’ll miss you very much, but it is probably time. Oh, but stay away from the condos! Apartments should be safe, as long as you get an Exemption from Nocturnal Rituals Agreement. Although you are still under permanent eviction…

Relax, Mister C. I have done this before. Besides, I’d like to see the Sheriff’s Secret Police try to enforce that one without StrexCorp behind them. I’m also still under indefinite anti-arrest, so they can hang themselves with their own red tape if they want to. And in case it’s not painfully obvious, John, you have an open invite to come look at places with me. If you want. Night Vale can be pretty rough on your own. 

I’d love to, Dave.

Cool. We could even alchemize some of the shit from your old room like I did. Make the place so painfully domestic, Martha Stewart will start frothing at the mouth all the way in New York. 

Like my posters? And my double-plush bed?

No dude, we already have my bed. And there’s no way I’m letting you sleep alone. You’ll get nightmares or something.

I don’t actually get nightmares that often… Do you get nightmares, Dave?

Don’t be ridiculous, Egbert. Only unicorns and rainbows in Cinema Strider.

M _hmm_ … That was me being skeptical, Dave. And how did you make your old stuff, exactly? You can’t have any of the equipment left from SBURB.

Nah, dude, the faceless old woman who secretly lives in our home taught me real alchemy. I can teach you too; once you get equivalent exchange down, it’s as easy as snapping.

Okay, but what if…someone… _hypothetically_ …couldn’t snap?

Sign, John. I’m signing at your incompetence.

Sorry I’m not a coolkid like you who learned how to snap as soon as the ligaments in his fingers were strong enough. 

…Clapping, then. You can do that, can’t you?

Duh. Someone has to start the slow clap after one of your painstakingly set up, exhaustive extended metaphors fails epically.

My metaphors never fail. And way to completely miss the point I was making.

More like failing to make.

More like why don’t you take your sass back to the shitty sass thrift store you paid way too much for it at, because it’s so unoriginal it’s had like seven previous owners and it’s got all kinds of suspicious stains and shit.

John gave Dave another skeptical look. Dave flash-pulled John’s hood over his face. 

I’m going to prank you so hard for that!

_ Oooh,  _ Mister _Egbert._

Dave was getting alarmingly good at making John blush.

Sh-shut up.

~

John did end up pranking Dave – by replacing his broadcast notes with a little something John had written up himself. Dave had read as far as “rap sucks and Nic Cage deserves 50 Oscars” before cursing John out and swearing revenge over the airwaves. However, seeing as Dave’s idea of revenge was tackling John to the floor of their new apartment and instigating a long and sloppy make-out session, John could content himself in almost believing that Dave didn’t know the meaning of the word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered putting a minor character death warning in about Dave's shades, but then I thought that joke might be too mean. But really, I almost cried when I realized I should have John break them. I love those shades, man. I feel like that's worse than breaking Dave's arm.
> 
> Apologies to fans of Calliope, as she is technically an omelette. But she never would have won the dominance struggle with her bro. (Plus the original Calliope is still a ghost in the newly re-launched SBURB, so she can still hang out with the other dead players in dream bubbles.) TO CLEAR A FEW THINGS UP FROM CANON: My fic assumes divergent Homestuck and WTNV canons for some of the later events, most notably, Aradia is dead, Sollux is alive with his psiionics and not blind, Terezi is still blind, and Jade did not go grimbark. (With WTNV it was very much pick-and-choose, so I won't list them.) How I imagined all of this happened is that Aradia died facing Jack after the Green Sun, and Sollux survived on the meteor, though near-death and needing the full 3 years to recover. Aranea never fixed Terezi's eyes (TZ refused her offer/someone intervened/that meeting never happened). A similar thing goes for Jade & the Condesce. (Condy, with both the Serkets' person-mind-control and the Nitrams' animal-mind-control can really possess anyone at any time, so why she didn't just possess literally everyone/anyone she was after in the first place (or why she relies on technology like she did with Jane) beats me.) So I have actively and selectively ignored things from canon to make this story work better.
> 
> Otherwise, just this once, Dave, everybody lives! I hope you all enjoyed the happy ending :)
> 
> ~
> 
> "There's an east wind coming, Watson."
> 
> "I think not, Holmes. It is very warm."
> 
> "Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.”


	28. Epilogue: In Time (or, Two Years Later)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the original broadcast style! Thanks to Madame_Kockout for the idea of a certain someone becoming Deputy Mayor!
> 
> CECIL'S CLOSING MONOLOGUE ABOUT TIME IS A DIRECT QUOTE FROM WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE (C) COMMONPLACE BOOKS, AND I DO NOT CLAIM TO HAVE WRITTEN IT. 
> 
> Also, more fan art!! This time by the talented Soarra: http://soarra.deviantart.com/art/Intern-Dave-478314145
> 
> And that's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did!

And in financial news…spiders. Soooooo many spiders. Did you feel that brush against your ankle just now? No, probably not. It was so gentle. But you must feel that tickle scuttling slowly up your arm. And that other, slightly larger one, along the side of your leg. They are quickly eclipsing your skin on little, barbed legs. Can you still hear me? Or can you only hear the sound of the spiders – like old leaves rustling together – faint and organic as their furry bodies block your ears? Can you still see anything other than skeletal thoraxes, bulging abdomens and the occasional flash of fang and row of small, perfectly round, black eyes? Can you still call for help?

No, probably not.

Listeners, I would like to give you all a special update. It is two years to the day that NVCR’s very own intern Dave walked into our town, and 317 days since his friends joined us here in Night Vale and in our estranged – and probably adopted – sister town, Desert Bluffs. Though the circumstances of their arrival were… _strange_ , our twelve newest citizens have settled into life here in this remote desert we call home exceptionally well. No doubt many of you know at least one or two of these young adults personally, as they have all become outstanding members of their communities in their own ways.

I asked intern Dave to do some follow-up reporting with each of his friends in honor of today, and after calling me an “overly sentimental creep,” he happily complied. Most of his interviews took place over the mysterious chat client Pesterchum that only Dave and his friends seem able to use, so it was about the laziest, lowest-risk reporting that I have ever seen during my time at this station. But it was, I must admit, effective. 

Jane Crocker and Roxy Lalonde have taken over the former Pinkberry/StrexCorp PR Department complex. Roxy has transformed the Pinkberry (whose owners were, unfortunately, StrexCorp loyalists, and were therefore eaten by pteranodons) into the popular FroYo Bar, a frozen yogurt establishment that offers nearly every conceivable flavor of nonalcoholic, alcohol-flavored frozen yogurt. Roxy’s yogurt artistry is well-known throughout town, and her multi-flavor FroYo “cocktails” are always in demand. 

Jane has remodeled the basement of the building, the former StrexCorp PR Department, into the trendy restaurant, Sassacre’s. Though she tells a different story to everyone who inquires about the odd name, no one questions the quality and  _playfulness_  of Sassacre’s’ fare. Dining there is not for the faint of heart, however, as every tenth delicious dish explodes in the patron’s face, emits noxious fumes, or another of several hilarious hijinks. 

Dirk Strider is now a custom robotics contractor, available to anyone with the means to procure his costly, top-of-the-line services. But he does occasionally take on pro-bono work, his latest project of this kind being the robot ninja that guards the Manga section of the Public Library, protecting patrons from unwanted librarian attention. 

Jake English started Desert Safari Adventures, an all-day, thrice-weekly venture into the open desert surrounding Night Vale, and all the wonders and horrors that it hides. After extensive research and a number of donations from Dirk, Jake guarantees his thrill-seeking customers’ protection in a six-seater ATV outfitted with an extensive arsenal of custom defensive and offensive weaponry.  

Kanaya Maryam opened the high-fashion boutique, Satin Chainsaw, on Main Street, featuring an eclectic collection of clothing of her own design, including a children’s line. She describes her aesthetic as “sleek, stylish and sanguinary.” Many notable Night Vale citizens have been spotted wearing Kanaya’s designs, including our new mayor, former NVCR intern Dana, and Tamika Flynn. 

Terezi Pyrope quickly worked her way up through the ranks of the Sheriff’s Secret Police, and is now Undersheriff Pyrope. Though there were rumors of intimidation tactics, the widely-accepted reason for her rapid success is her spearheading of the manhunt for Gamzee Makara, the thirteenth member of intern Dave’s party who is believed to have somehow escaped the third monolith’s bubble dimension undetected, and of whom no sightings have been reported to this day. Undersheriff Pyrope has certainly cut out a difficult task for herself. 

Karkat Vantas and Sollux Captor, as you all know, now reside in Desert Bluffs. Karkat continues on valiantly as an intern at DBCR under Kevin, the station’s  _vile_  but…perhaps most often simply misunderstood radio host. Sometimes Karkat mentions a kind of… _project_  he is working on, but when pressed, he declines somewhat nervously – but adamantly – to say more. 

Sollux is the creative genius behind the Desert Bluffs tech start-up, Tactical Programming. Exactly what kind of programs they engineer, and to what purposes, is somewhat vague, but apparently Sollux has so many customers in Night Vale that his frequent business meetings here necessitated the lease of a flat in town, and thereby, dual citizenship. 

Rose Lalonde opened her own psychiatric practice on 3rd Street, where she helps her patients achieve greater balance and normalcy in their often stressful and sometimes just plain  _confusing_  lives. Patients find it easier to open up to her in the company of the adorable black kitten that resides in her office – the last of our very own Khoshekh’s litter! There is no obstacle that cannot be surmounted by employing a kitten. At least, that’s what my father used to say.  

Jade Harley constructed and now manages Night Vale’s new public dog park. Her inspiration: her love for her own beautiful and terrifying, glowing green and dimensionally transient dog, Becquerel. The new dog park is located a few blocks from the old one, and looks very similar to the old one, save for notable lack of tall, obsidian walls, a stone monolith, hooded figures and spatial transcendence (you know, because the old one is bigger on the inside). It is also considerably more park-like, with beds of exotic and carefully-tended flowers and tall, shady trees. Most notably, it is actually open to dogs and their owners. Of course, we were all skeptical of this strange policy at first, but the new dog park has turned out to be a favorite relaxation and socialization spot for both Night Vale’s human and canine citizens. 

Though he assisted me and Dave at the station for a while, the orange-feathered, alternate future-past version of Dave who goes by Davesprite has not been seen by anyone in months. Dave does not seem worried about the fate of his counterpart, however, so I am inclined not to worry either. I am sure that, wherever Davesprite is, he is happy. 

One of the last times I saw Davesprite was when he carried a small, black-shelled, humanoid creature into town from its wanderings out in the open desert. This creature, clothed in rags and a sash on which was crudely written the word “Mayor,” went on to demonstrate such spectacular city planning and management skills, that Mayor Dana Mikeda recently appointed him to Deputy Mayor. 

John Egbert opened up Night Vale’s first movie theater. Well, our first since the one that used to stand at the end of Main Street fifty years ago and never showed up in photographs…until the day it  _only_  showed up in photographs. John is known for his willingness to screen any movie, regardless of its critical acclaim, and eagerly takes requests from the community. He also introduces movies of which no record or recollection exists in Night Vale, that he re-creates using alchemy. He originally opened the theater under the name Cinema Strider - quote - “for the irony” - unquote - but after nearly constant complaints from our resident Strider, both on and off the air, John relented and changed the name to Casey Cinemas, a tribute to a mutual friend of theirs. 

Dave Strider–

_\- Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars -_

Hold on, listeners, this might be important. Hello?

_ Hi Cecil, it’s John. I’ve, um, been listening to your show… _

I should hope so. It’s mandatory.

_ Yeah, and this episode’s a really good idea – I know everyone appreciates it – but as I’ve been listening I’ve been getting this…this really bad feeling. Like something bad’s going to  _ happen _. And it kept getting worse, and then you said Dave’s name and I just— Is he there? Is he okay?_

_[intercom]_

_ I’m right here. It’s okay, I get those feelings too, and they’re total BS like, 99.99% of the time. I think the faceless old woman who secretly lives in our home is messing with us. She can do some creepy shit. _

_ So you just ignore it? That seems really hard. _

_ Yeah, I guess I have a good therapist.  _

_ But why didn’t you answer your cell phone? _

_ I don’t have it right now. Five-minutes-in-the-future-me came back and borrowed it because, somehow, the guy managed to lose his phone in a closed booth in the span of five minutes.  _

_ Haha you are literally your own worst enemy, Dave. You’re the incarnation of that P!nk song.  _

_ Yeah, laugh at the temporally challenged kid. Does it make you feel better about yourself? Does it, John? _

_ Maaaaybee. _

_ Good. Remember that feeling next time you sneeze in your sleep and start a category one hurricane in our bedroom. You’ll understand why I’m laughing as I smother you with a pillow.  _

_ Gasp! Dave, bedroom talk stays off the air! _

_ What. _

Ahem. I do have a show to run, you two. Private conversations between boyfriends also belong off the air. There’s a time and a place for mucking around, and it is not community radio. 

_ Did you just— Never mind. I’ll go back and borrow my phone from like, five minutes ago and call you back, John… Well, shit.  _

_ Pfff. Sorry, Mister Stri– I mean Palmer! Cecil! Um, bye! _

_\- beep -_

Well, as Dave has just illustrated, he remains my intern here at Night Vale Community Radio—

_[intercom]_

_ Archintern, Mister C. _

…Yes, archintern. And while he is certainly not the most  _productive_  or  _efficient_  intern I have ever had, perhaps those ideals are best left to Desert Bluffs. Because intern Dave is certainly the bravest, strongest, and most selfless intern I have ever had, and the longest surviving on top of that. He is also the most productive and efficient  _archintern_  I have ever had, as he is the  _only_  archintern I have ever had, which, on its own, says quite a lot about him. 

As for how Dave’s friends all managed such a strong start to their various enterprises when they arrived in this town with absolutely no cash or capital to their names, I cannot say. I literally _cannot_ say. Because angels do not exist, so any charitable donations and/or philanthropic acts that they choose to give and/or perform, also cannot possibly exist. And if I said that they did, all of you listeners would have to be taken in for re-education on the matter by said, nonexistent, winged beings that are certainly not angelic in any way. There, glad we’ve cleared that up. 

In a related and eerily timely event, I was called, trembling in abject terror, to Station Management’s office this morning. They answered questions – in a series of clicks and hisses that I was somehow able to understand – that many of us have had since the day interns Dave and Karkat warped reality to pull their friends out of inter-dimensional space, and in the process, restarted something greater than any of us could comprehend – even collectively, as the City Council sometimes facilitates. 

I say that I was able to understand what Station Management told me, and that they answered questions, but while I understood their  _words_ , I suspect that most of what they said will have meaning only to a select few. They informed me, as I lay prostrate before them, that what they called “the failsafe session” is now defunct, and that a new one has been generated elsewhere. They said that the game could not allow players to inhabit an active failsafe session amidst the core game data, where irreparable damage could so easily be done. And because the members of Dave Strider’s, Dirk Strider’s and Karkat Vantas’ parties have proven themselves to be more trouble than they are worth as players, they are confined to the retired session and its single planet, indefinitely.

I think…this is good news, listeners. I think that David has defeated Goliath and that the angel of death has passed us over. The purely figurative angel of death of course. The Bible is, as we all know, entirely fictional. Like the Holy Grail, or Bigfoot. It’s a comforting story, but the book doesn’t actually exist. 

_\- Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars, Let me see what spring is like, On Jupiter and Mars -_

Hello, Carlos! 

_ Hi, Cecil. I’m just calling to tell you to avoid Canyon Road on your way home, because I’ve been tracking these weird temperature pockets of about 2° Kelvin all along that road, but  _ only _ along that road, and while these anomalies are fascinating for study, I want you home safely. _

Aw, thank you, Carlos. I’ll take a detour.

_ Also what you said about the Bible just isn’t true. The book exists, it’s just that the stories it contains are unscientific.  _

I don’t know. That sounds a little far-fetched to me, but if you say the Bible actually exists, then…I guess I believe you.  

_ Also I waned to say I love you.  _

I love you too, Carlos. 

_[intercom]_

_ Hey, Mister C., what was that thing you said about private conversations between boyfriends belonging off the air? _

Ever the professional, aren’t you, Dave? ***sigh***  But he’s right. I’ll see you soon, okay?

_ Okay. Goodbye, Cecil.  _

Bye, Carlos. 

_\- beep -_

Listeners, I have said these words to you before, but I feel it is appropriate– no, timely – to repeat them tonight. 

Time is like wax, dripping from a candle flame. In the moment it is molten and falling, with the capability to transform into any shape. Then the moment passes, and the wax hits the table top and solidifies into the shape it will always be. It becomes the past, a solid, single record of what happened, still holding in its wild curves and contours the potential of every shape it could have held. It is impossible not to feel a little sad, looking at that bit of wax. That bit of the past. It is impossible not to think of all the wild forms that wax now will never take. But then you remember, I remember, that we are even now in another bit of molten wax. We are in a moment that is still falling, still volatile, and we will never be anywhere else. 

Stay tuned next, for what happens after the ending. A silent continuation of a story whose narrator has put it to rest, but whose characters will never cease to live beyond such an inane limit. After all, our story began with an ending, did it not?  ***wink***

Goodnight, Night Vale. 

Goodnight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official time pun tally: 7  
> Official reference count: 19  
> Can you catch 'em all?

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to get in touch with me or send me something (like art??), send to **1nternd4v3@gmail.com** , comment on the story (I read them all) or message me on Tumblr (I'm **museicbox** , and I mostly post a bunch of fandom stuff). **SUPER DUPER UPD8: TUMBLR USER kkaylakayleb AND TUMBLR USER aerofbreath ARE CURRENTLY RECORDING PODFIC VERSIONS OF THIS FIC. aerofbreath's PODFIC IS COMING SOON.**
> 
> You can follow intern Dave on Twitter **@Intern_Dave** to hear about the little things going on in Night Vale that don't always make it into Cecil's broadcasts. Also for Dave being Dave. (Feed is run by myself and vanishedSchism.) Note: the Twitter feed is currently dormant because vanishedSchism and I are not seasoned Twitterati and found it a bit tiring to keep feeding the feed, but if you have ideas for Night Vale-y tweets you think Dave would write, please send them along to 1nternd4v3@gmail.com or message them to me on Tumblr, and if I think they're in character, etc. I'll post them to the Twitter feed and credit you!
> 
> If you want EVEN MORE Night Valestuck, y'all should check out the related works l've linked to below. vanishedSchism's replaces Dave with Karkat, Cecil with Kevin and Night Vale with Desert Bluffs to set the stage, and **Strexstuck is officially canon in my fic's 'verse, and the story lines are parallel/interweaving.**
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed my writing, you can commission a story from me here: http://museicbox.tumblr.com/commissions

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Things Are Different Here, Intern Dave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074729) by [BadWolfBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfBelle/pseuds/BadWolfBelle)
  * [Strexstuck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177428) by [vanishedSchism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishedSchism/pseuds/vanishedSchism)
  * [The Two Interns of Night Vale Community Radio Who Just Won't Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395240) by [thedaveanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaveanon/pseuds/thedaveanon)
  * [Welcome to Derse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489908) by [aceoftwos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceoftwos/pseuds/aceoftwos)




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